Memory
by Layla-V
Summary: C/7 - What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as we'd thought at first? Pairing: Chakotay / Seven (This story won *FIRST PLACE* in The Bowl First Kiss Contest)
1. Part 1

TITLE: "Memory" Part 1 of 4  
AUTHOR: Layla V.  
CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/chakotayseven  
ARCHIVING: Sure. Just let me know where.  
FANDOM: Star Trek Voyager  
PAIRING: Chakotay/Seven  
RATING: PG-13.  
CODES: Slightly A/U. Angst. H/c.  
SUMMARY: What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's  
memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as  
we'd thought at first?  
DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Paramount. I am merely  
playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
NOTES: Major thanks to Sorcha for her invaluable suggestions  
and betaing. Also thanks to Kristin for her encouragement  
without which I could never have been able to finish this.  
:)  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
This Story won *First Place* in the Bowl First Kiss contest!  
http://www.geocities.com/the_fresh_bowl/contest.html  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
  
  
They say memory is the purveyor of reason.  
  
It is the vessel that holds our sanity within its arrayed  
sequenced divisions. We creatures of habit are creatures  
gifted with memory and endowed with a thinking mind---one  
that retains knowledge of the past we've experienced, hoping  
to keep it safe and secure within its secret folds.  
  
But my reason is lost. There's a fissure in my thoughts, a  
yawning gap that threatens to envelop me into its needless,  
incomprehensible vacuity.  
  
What happened to me? I ask the face reflecting back at me  
from the near-transparent sheen of my office's viewport. The  
face frowns, the dark brows furrowing in deep thought, and I  
hear a long sound escape from the back of my throat---a  
staggering sigh, lined with weary desolation.  
  
What's wrong with me? I squeeze my eyes shut a moment and  
then open them once more, sighing again. Oh gods, I don't  
know. I wouldn't have known anything but the emptiness  
inside that crosses the threshold of mind and memory and  
slinks down to the depths of my soul---leaving me  
restless---if it hadn't been for the letter.  
  
Four pages of replicated even-lined writing paper. A strange  
handwritten account of events otherwise unrecorded addressed  
to me. Addressed *by* me.  
  
I don't know what made me look for the clean pair of uniform  
boots in the last drawer of my bedroom's wardrobe. After all  
a pair of boots can't really fit in a drawer, can they?  
  
But there I was, running late for the Rumbari reception  
which was to be held planet-side in a little under forty  
minutes, dressed in my Starfleet issue dress shirt and  
pants, when I realized my clean boots were nowhere to be  
found. In a manner of minutes my room looked like a cyclone  
had hit it---let it be officially noted down that a person  
as meticulous as I've become in my years on Voyager surely  
knows how to devastate any semblance of neatness in life  
when the time calls for it. It usually occurs during these  
rare panic-stricken search raids for little lost personal  
items. And sure enough, despite the upheaval I caused, I  
couldn't find the damn boots no matter where I looked.  
  
And it was while I was rummaging through the lower  
cabinets---hunting for the said boots to no avail---that I  
pulled open the last drawer of the closet and saw the stack  
of papers lying there.  
  
The steel covered stout writing pen sat on top of the stack  
in quiet declaration, the first few words staring up at me  
in their bold uncial letter writing in a sort of peerless  
challenge.  
  
/READ THIS,/ The heading said. /AND TRUST YOUR HEART./  
  
I remember frowning at the words at first as if they were no  
more than an unwanted distraction, for which I really had no  
time of course. But then, as always, curiosity got the  
better of me. I picked up the stack of papers and began to  
read.  
  
And forgot all about the boots.  
  
I remember still sitting in front of the wardrobe in the  
same half crouch, still reading the account, virtually lost  
to the universe, when Kathryn commed me twenty-five minutes  
later. She was asking why I wasn't in transporter room two  
with her, getting ready to beam down to the surface with the  
Voyager entourage. If it hadn't been for that call, I  
probably would've missed the reception.  
  
I don't remember much of the Rumbari gathering either. All I  
know is that I had to wear the same old boots I had worn  
during the alpha shift that day after all. And that we  
secured the trade agreement with our gracious hosts. With or  
without my help.  
  
Most likely without, though, since my mind was too  
distracted to be of much help to Kathryn and Tuvok during  
the trade talks.  
  
My thoughts confused. My reason lost.  
  
The computer beeps a warning and shaken out of my thoughts,  
I turn to the chronometer. It's gone past the usual  
lunchtime now and would be safer for me to go have lunch  
peacefully since the alpha crowd must've gone back on shift  
by this time. I realize I've wasted another morning session  
on idle, pointless brooding---ignoring the steadily growing  
stack of padds that has been lying on my desk since leaving  
Rumbari space a week ago; brooding that will get me nowhere,  
of course.  
  
After all there's no official, concrete way to verify my  
handwritten memoirs, is there?  
  
I slowly make my way to the messhall, answering the  
respectful greetings of the few crewmembers I meet on the  
way. Neelix is clearing up the place and there are only a  
few people left in the messhall now, but I know he has kept  
lunch for me and others like me who are here for a late  
lunch.  
  
I am not a recluse by nature. I don't really mind crowds and  
my job as the XO means interacting with my people on a  
daily, sometimes hourly, basis is part of the deal. But the  
events of the last few days have left me unsettled; the need  
to be left alone and undisturbed consistently pressing down  
on me with a quiet resolution.  
  
"Commander," Neelix beams happily as he sees me. "You must  
try the Spicy Silkari Brown Rice I've prepared today. The  
accompanying Fujakan Potato Sauce makes it a most delightful  
combination."  
  
"Thank you, Neelix, I'd love that." I smile back at him,  
dreading the worst. Spicy and Neelix can often be a deadly  
combination. But his enthusiasm is contagious and I find  
myself warming up to his chatter as he ladles spoonfuls of  
the green potato sauce on top of the rice. The smell is  
surprisingly quite favorable, and I tell him so.  
  
"Trust me Commander," He leans in close, almost  
conspiratorially. "It's been a hit with the vegetarians on  
board. Commander Tuvok even took three servings and everyone  
knows he never takes more than two. The original recipe for  
the sauce called for carrots, but I now know how much you  
dislike them."  
  
I contemplate the tray in my hand, not sure if the Tuvok  
reference scores any favorable points for Neelix's latest  
culinary creation. And then it hits me like déjà vu'.  
Carrots. Not many people know I hate carrots. Of course  
Neelix is one of the few who have finally figured it out,  
which is a good thing since he is the cook. But, who else?  
My thoughts whirl inside my head. Did I tell someone about  
the carrots? Who did I tell?  
  
Did I tell *her*?  
  
I come out of my musing as Neelix waves his hand in front of  
me. "Commander, are you all right?" His voice sounds a  
little panicked, and I wonder how long I'd been standing  
there---lost in my thoughts.  
  
I blink and stare at the Talaxian for a second, noting his  
eyes have widened with concern. Then I take a deep breath  
and shrug. "Sure, Neelix. I am fine."  
  
I take my tray to a corner table and settle down. I know  
Neelix is still looking at me, standing at his counter, so I  
make a display of scooping up a generous spoonful of rice  
and sauce and take it inside my mouth. As I chew I realize  
the flavor really isn't half-bad and the genuine smile of  
thanks I send the Talaxian's way apparently satisfies him  
and he smiles gratefully before going back to work.  
  
But the tasteful food isn't enough to keep my mind focused  
on it for too long. My thoughts soon return to the object of  
my discontent. The letter.  
  
Her name was Kellin. She was Rumaran, a beautiful woman as  
per my written notes, belonging to a world that didn't  
appreciate anyone leaving the bounds of their closed  
society. According to the accounts, she was a 'Tracer', a  
bounty hunter given the job of tracking down people who  
attempted to leave their world. She had come to Voyager  
looking for a runaway hiding here and my letter says...  
  
I pause and stare down at my plate. My letter says she and  
I... fell in *love*. With each other. Not once, but twice. I  
shake my head and frown at the rice. It supposedly had  
something to do with the biological characteristics of  
Rumarans, which ensured that the memories of her people  
couldn't be held in the minds of other races. They can only  
be remembered for a few hours...and then the memories fade  
away.  
  
I sense a sudden rush of maddening hilarity bubbling up  
inside me, a somewhat familiar feeling that I've felt every  
time I went over this part of the account over the past one  
week, and if the whole situation weren't so damn pathetic I  
would've certainly burst out laughing. I stop myself in  
time, though, and the only residue of my restrained madness  
is a further gritting of my teeth as I let the fork held in  
my hand slip from my fingers. The utensil clatters noisily  
on the replicated china and I close my eyes again.  
  
Gods, I don't want to make some absurd XO-gone-insane scene  
in public. This has to stop. I am the First Officer here.  
Can't have the second-in-commands chasing ghost lovers in  
the remnants of their brain's tampered memory pathways, now,  
can we? But spirits, my heart...  
  
I sigh, my eyes still closed, and rub my weary face with the  
heals of my hands. If it's all really so unreal, if it's all  
nothing but a foregone maniacal absurdity, then why the hell  
does my heart feel so empty inside? There's no record of her  
being here, the computer virus mentioned in my account  
explains that, yes, but then why do I feel like I've lost  
something important, something real, something that was  
truly beautiful to me?  
  
Was this why I'd been feeling so subdued in the last few  
weeks? Could my heart have known I'd lost someone I'd loved  
even if my mind couldn't acknowledge it?  
  
Gods, why *did* I leave myself this account? What was I  
thinking when I wrote this? Wouldn't it have been infinitely  
better if I'd stayed quiet, if I'd let this get lost along  
with everything else that was supposedly lost after she  
left? Spirits, I don't even remember what she looked like.  
  
All of a sudden I get the feeling of being watched.  
Startled, my eyes fly open and I quickly, furtively, scan  
the room for whoever has caught the whiff of my restrained  
madness. My eyes lock with the clear blues of my  
interloper's. It's Seven. I inwardly groan as I realize my  
madness isn't that restrained after all, as I return her  
curious, direct gaze with as much efficacy as I can.  
  
I really don't think I have the patience to answer any of  
her inquisitive queries. What has she noticed anyway? How  
long has she been watching me? I feel a slight flush heat  
the skin of my face as I contemplate breaking the eye  
contact and looking away from her...  
  
When she breaks it herself. And something quite exotic,  
something I'd never seen on her face before, an alien blend  
of uncharacteristic abashment intermingled with  
characteristic Borg indignation perhaps, crosses her  
features and she looks down at her own meal.  
  
I blink at the strange display. Seven of Nine embarrassed?  
My brows furrow. Of what? Have I stepped into an alternate  
universe? What did that look on her face mean?  
  
I look down at the now cold rice and realize my appetite is  
lost. I have to get the hell out of here, my heart and brain  
tell me in unison. I stand up, pick up my half-eaten meal  
and take the tray to the recycler. I ignore Neelix's  
outraged protests as I empty the plate into the apparatus,  
set the serving dishes on the counter, and walk out of the  
messhall.  
  
For a moment, I feel myself shiver as the heat of her gaze  
lingers on my back. And then the messhall doors close behind  
me.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
The star-chart on the Astrometrics screen shifts under my  
new commands and we see a fresh trajectory replace the old  
display.  
  
"The three planet system you see on the top left corner is  
the closest on our current course." I say. "We'll have to  
divert the route for four light-years in order to reach it."  
  
"How long would it take on our current speed?" Captain  
Janeway asks.  
  
I quickly compute the distance. "Approximately eighty-four  
hours."  
  
"And according to your data, they're all uninhabited?" She  
looks at me closely.  
  
"The Borg didn't find any civilizations or technology worthy  
of assimilation in this entire region." I turn to her.  
"According to my data, only lower life forms and vegetation  
prevail in that system."  
  
"All the more reason for us to go exploring." She gives a  
rueful smile. "Neelix has been eager to restock his food  
stores, and B'Elanna would love to look up any mineral  
deposits that might be useful."  
  
She pats me encouragingly on my shoulder as she turns to  
leave. "Keep running scans and let me know if something new  
comes up."  
  
"Yes, Captain." I nod as I turn to face the screen again, my  
fingers moving on the console in front of me.  
  
I hear the doors open as she steps through the doorsill and  
then for some reason, she pauses at the threshold. I turn my  
head to look back at her.  
  
"I'll ask Commander Chakotay to prepare a schedule for away  
team rotations." Her eyes are on the star-chart on the  
screen, not me, her quick mind undoubtedly working ahead of  
schedule as usual, already planning and allocating tasks in  
her head. "If the scans show favorable results, we'll need  
everyone working around the clock to alleviate the supplies  
shortage." Then she looks at me, smiles again, and walks  
out. The doors close behind her.  
  
I stare at the closed doors for a moment, my thoughts in a  
complicated quandary, and then turn back to my console.  
  
As I program the system to run continuous scans of the  
region along the trajectory we've decided to follow, my  
thoughts return to the perplexing situation of Voyager's  
First Officer. My mind runs the scene observed earlier in  
the messhall over and over again but still comes up short  
when the need for a possible solution is acknowledged.  
  
The Commander is disturbed, that much is certain from my  
recent observations of his otherwise inconspicuous behavior.  
The display in the messhall today indicates an obvious  
increase in the factors that have been contributing to his  
distraction---factors which would perhaps be unknown to the  
others onboard. Which brings me to the uncertainty of how  
his other crewmates will interpret his anxiety-filled  
behavior in the absence of any known reasons. I am also  
uncertain as to what measures I can take to assist the  
Commander in relieving the stress he's under.  
  
After all, the circumstances affecting him are not  
completely unknown to me.  
  
I wouldn't have found out anything at all if Borg Alcove  
Beta, the Alcove I always use for my regeneration cycles in  
the cargo bay, hadn't malfunctioned. When Lieutenant Torres  
ran a diagnostic on it, it turned out that the primary  
relays in the microcircuit sub-processor had gotten fused  
and the Alcove would be inoperative until they were  
replaced.  
  
While the Lieutenant was certain she could get the problem  
resolved, she had as much inclination to spend her off-duty  
hours fixing my Alcove as I had to endure her scathing  
impatience. I allowed her to get Alcove Gamma operational,  
which hadn't been used during the past one year, for my use  
that night and was immensely relieved when she left---her  
reluctance to spend too much off-duty time in my presence is  
another peculiarity I undoubtedly share with her.  
  
As I stepped into the new Alcove, the programming in the  
Alcove itself as well as my own Borg physiology reset itself  
to match the new environment---as is the case every time a  
drone is reassigned to a new vessel or division. No data or  
information is wiped out in the process, only all the Borg  
implants and systems within my physiology are resynchronized  
so that they can match the new setting and the regeneration  
cycle can commence.  
  
The beginning of each cycle is vague, filled with familiar  
faces and images that help center a Drone's thoughts and  
memories---much like what human individuals would call the  
'dream state'. The onset of this state in a Drone's case,  
though, is instantaneous---unlike humans who would take some  
time before they will fall asleep. Even though my link to  
the Collective has been severed for almost a year, my  
regeneration cycles bring me closer to my Borg half more  
than anything else I've ever experienced as an individual.  
  
This time, however, my thoughts were filled with faces  
unknown to me. Unacquainted, alien, and yet still somehow  
strangely, inexplicably, familiar.  
  
A smiling humanoid female. Her ears slanting upwards to a  
pointed peak, her hair light and her eyes a shade darker  
than mine. An individual I'd never met before. Or perhaps an  
individual I *thought* I'd never met before.  
  
A face animated in conversation---*his* face, a strangely  
familiar flush coloring the darker hue of his skin further.  
The sound of laughter, theirs---the two of them sharing a  
carefree meal in a corner of the messhall, oblivious to  
their surroundings.  
  
Another female, a human this time, her hair the same light  
brush of burning embers silkily framing her face, her large  
eyes expressing compassion---her face a familiar one, her  
words the same I'd heard thousands of times before in my  
dreams and in my nightmares: "Hear our voices. Open your  
mind to our thoughts. Feel the connection. Don't be afraid.  
Our strength is your strength." His memories.  
  
An old man leading me into a path inside a jungle, or  
perhaps leading *him*. A flash of lightening, or perhaps a  
discharge of powerful weapons fire, scorching the earth, the  
life, the old man in front of me---or perhaps in front of  
him---to glowing cinders. All life burnt to ashes in one  
vicious strike. The sounds of screams rising and  
reverberating inside my skull---his skull---and the jolt of  
pain freezing me---him---stealing my breath---his---making  
me fall to my knees, tears running down my face. His face.  
His pain.  
  
His face again. This time alone at a corner of an  
Observation lounge, perhaps somewhere on Deck Five. Deep in  
thought, not noticing my arrival, his eyes dull with loss  
and hurt---his face quietly expressive in the solitude of  
his own company and in the absence of protocols that  
constantly reaffirm his own loneliness. *My* loneliness.  
  
And then the sudden onslaught of silence---followed by a  
skin-tingling, throat-constricting plunging of utter  
darkness.  
  
When I came out of my regeneration cycle that night, I found  
myself drenched in a light sheen of perspiration. The images  
were confusing but then again some of them were familiar  
too. It was obvious that the memories I had retained from my  
brief link to Commander Chakotay a year ago had been  
prevalent in this cycle, but what was I to make of the other  
unfamiliar faces?  
  
Who was the first female I saw in my mind? Was she a  
remnant, a figment of some individual's memory---maybe  
someone who had been assimilated by me in the past? Why did  
I see Commander Chakotay in those memories then? Was my  
flawed human brain fusing separate images and unmatchable  
memories together? Was this what Lieutenant Paris would call  
a haphazardly drawn 'jigsaw puzzle' that wouldn't make sense  
no matter how hard we tried to piece it together?  
  
As I checked, I realized a long time had passed since I'd  
initiated my cycle. I had completed much of my needed quota  
of regeneration, even if it had left me mentally  
unsettled---a human weakness no doubt---and now I had no  
desire to go back to it.  
  
And that was exactly what I did.  
  
I stayed away from the Alcove, even after Lieutenant Torres  
fixed the problem in Alcove Beta the next day. A week passed  
without regeneration because, to elucidate myself, I was a  
little uncertain how it would effect me again. The Doctor  
soon intervened with complaints of falling electrolyte  
levels, though, and I had no choice but to return to  
regeneration.  
  
However, this time I kept my fears at bay, and my  
determination to find some answers foremost in my mind.  
  
By the time my second regeneration cycle had ended, I had  
most of the puzzle resolved.  
  
The answer lay within my Designator Interface Circuit. It is  
a small circuit located on the exterior of Drones and  
contains information on our numerical designation as well as  
information we have accumulated since being last connected  
with the Collective. Its one of the implants that the Doctor  
was unable to remove from my exoskeleton because attempting  
to do so would've resulted in the activation of a  
self-destruct program that would've vaporized me.  
  
This circuit, being an external unit, stays disengaged  
during my normal regeneration cycles. Its function is to  
record a sequenced form of the data that already exists in  
my Neuro-Processor. The main and incidentally only implant  
that interacts with the Alcove during regeneration is the  
Interlink Node. But it seems that using the new Alcove,  
which resulted in the resetting of all my Borg systems,  
reintegrated that data---and thus the memories contained  
within---into my Neuro-Processor once again.  
  
Now that the Rumaran virus no longer exists within Voyager's  
computer, there is no concern for this data, and these  
memories, of being erased from my system again.  
  
The one uncertainty that does confound me is the question of  
which individual on Voyager I should relay this revived  
information to. Or perhaps whether I should inform anyone at  
all.  
  
That brings me back to the subject of Commander Chakotay. I  
am unsure what, if anything, he does remember from the  
events of our contact with Kellin and her people. There  
isn't any record in the ship's database. I have even  
discreetly run algorithms against his own personal  
files---the ones I could access, that is---as well, and have  
found no clues that he has any information recorded in his  
stored data files regarding the incidents. Unless, of  
course, he has employed some crude method of storing  
information that proved to be somewhat efficient for him.  
  
Although I am not sure the stressful state he's in right now  
is indicative of any actual efficiency in relevance to the  
method he may have used.  
  
His replicator usage shows his nutritional consumption  
levels have dropped in the past one-week or so, and how well  
he's taking his meals in the messhall became quite evident  
today. The increasing lines around his eyes can also only be  
explained by the fact that he's not getting the physical  
rest, which the vigorous level of activity that comes with  
his position as the First Officer entails.  
  
That leaves me unsettled for some inscrutable reason.  
  
For someone to come and disrupt the equilibrium of a  
person's life so close by---my own life---and then leave  
thinking they've left no traces behind. When in fact the  
opposite may be the truth---not just in my case, but *his*  
too. It's so inexcusably... inefficient.  
  
No wonder the Borg never assimilated any Rumarans, despite  
their superior stealth and weapons technology. I can't  
imagine what the consequences of a Collective slowly losing  
its memory, in case one of them was liberated, would have  
been like. Even if it was only until their collective Borg  
Alcoves reset themselves.  
  
Which, like the unending circle this plight has become,  
brings me back to Commander Chakotay again. Ascertaining  
from the reaction I got from him this afternoon, it doesn't  
appear he is anymore comfortable in my presence than  
Lieutenant Torres is. Which would make sense since the two  
of them are close friends---her being one of the few people  
he socializes with on the ship other than the Captain.  
  
Only, Lieutenant Torres doesn't seem to be aware of the  
stress her friend is under. Nor is the Captain apparently  
aware of the anxiety Voyager's First Officer seems to be  
going through at the moment.  
  
I am uncertain as to what steps I should undertake.  
  
The Borg part of me---the part closest to my thoughts and  
mind and the decision-making centers of my cerebrum during  
my nightly regeneration cycles---tells me to simply let it  
be. That time will heal his wounds and he'll get over these  
needless inefficient emotional entanglements.  
  
And yet the human part of me---the part that brings all  
those familiar images and individual memories alive when I  
close my eyes during the same regeneration cycles---feels my  
chest constricting with a strange, mysterious feeling.  
  
The feeling of my human heart---aching in pain. For him.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
Continued in Memory 2 of4 


	2. Part 2

TITLE: "Memory" Part 2 of 4  
AUTHOR: Layla V.  
CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/chakotayseven  
ARCHIVING: Sure. Just let me know where.  
FANDOM: Star Trek Voyager  
PAIRING: Chakotay/Seven  
RATING: PG-13.  
CODES: Slightly A/U. Angst. H/c.  
SUMMARY: What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's  
memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as  
we'd thought at first?  
DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Paramount. I am merely  
playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
NOTES: Major thanks to Sorcha for her invaluable suggestions  
and betaing. Also thanks to Kristin for her encouragement  
without which I could never have been able to finish this.  
:)  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
This Story won *First Place* in the Bowl First Kiss contest!  
http://www.geocities.com/the_fresh_bowl/contest.html  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
  
  
"Now that's a sight for my sore aching eyes."  
  
Tom Paris sighs happily in the pilot's seat by my side, his  
eyes riveted to the main viewport in front of us.  
  
I, sitting in the co-pilot seat of Davies, steal a look at  
his rapturous expression from the corner of my eye and shake  
my head knowingly.  
  
The sense of marvel and excitement filling the Lieutenant's  
eyes is one that I can share. As a fellow pilot, I  
understand that nothing can compare to the sheer excitement  
that comes with taking the helm at one of these small  
beautiful ships. The sheer exultation of flying into  
virtually unknown territory, the thrill of exploring, and  
the freedom that comes with it---it's all an exquisitely  
privileged experience; one I am grateful to be a part of.  
  
The easy familiarity that comes with this feeling almost  
makes me forget all my confusion and worries of the last few  
days, as if they've been blissfully left behind in a past  
life. As if they were all part of a bad dream, and should  
cause no more confusion than the slight disorientation which  
descends for a few dizzying moments upon waking up from one.  
  
But things are never that simple and not everyone can be as  
easily impressed by the mere joy of gazing out a  
shuttlecraft's viewport window, as us small-minded  
individuals can.  
  
"You find a Type 3 asteroid field dense with severe  
gravitational disturbances leading to a planet's  
stratosphere which is filled with heavy ionic activity---an  
appealing sight!" The slightly affronted observation comes  
from the science station behind us.  
  
There's a slight pause during which I can't help but feel  
the corners of my mouth twitch at the incredulity in her  
tone of voice. She can't help it, I know. I also know that  
she's trying to understand Paris's perspective, trying to  
dissect the data available to her as efficiently as  
possible. But its not going to work. She doesn't have the  
correct frame of reference.  
  
The Borg obviously never assimilated a sense of wonder.  
  
As Paris rolls his eyes and comes back with a drawn out,  
drawled out rejoinder for our reluctant ex-Borg colleague,  
the feeling that I might be judging Seven a little too  
harshly in this instance pricks at my conscience.  
  
After all, if I am to be completely honest with myself, she  
isn't the same Borg Drone we liberated from the Collective a  
year ago. She has changed, is still changing, learning and  
picking up things along her decidedly laborious journey of  
discovering humanity for the first time in her adult life.  
  
I always knew Seven---no matter how sure Kathryn was of her  
success---was going to be a difficult assignment for all of  
us. Always knew it was going to be hard, if not impossible,  
for the vulnerable young woman who was emerging from under  
all those Borg implants to fully embrace her humanity.  
  
I never really expected her to change overnight.  
  
I slightly tilt my seat sideways to glance back at her, as  
she answers Tom's good-intentioned counters with her own,  
almost painfully precise responses, and silently berate  
myself for lying so blatantly to my own heart.  
  
It's not that I never expected her to change *overnight*.  
  
The thing is I never expected her to change, period.  
  
The fact that she *has* changed, that she *has* surpassed my  
obvious doubts, proved wrong my secret fears, and gone  
beyond any reluctant hopes that I may have held regarding  
her, has me thoroughly and truly confounded.  
  
Seven of Nine is an enigma, she always has been, and even  
daring to attempt to seek out all her secrets, and to solve  
the puzzling contradictions within her personality feels to  
be a Herculean task indeed.  
  
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Seven." Paris is  
still at it, patiently trying to convert her way of thinking  
even though she now seems to be adamantly, almost  
stubbornly, holding her ground. "Look at the asteroid belt,  
its absolutely *breathtaking*," he gushes "And the  
navigational challenge the gravitational pull, not to  
mention the ion storms in the atmosphere, will present our  
descent sequence---should be any capable pilot's idea of a  
really, really fun ride."  
  
I stoically keep my smile hidden from view.  
  
He's right about the challenge part at least. When Voyager  
had reached the system we'd laid a course for three days  
ago, our sensor readings had been a little chaotic, if not  
completely discouraging. The initial scans indicated that of  
the three planets, the only one that was M-Class also had  
thick blustering ion storms roaring in the lower atmosphere  
that made it nearly impossible for our sensors to penetrate  
the disturbance. Not to mention the fact that the same  
disturbance made transporters usage a no-option as well.  
  
All we had been able to come up with were some hints and  
scraps of readings between the tiny fragmented windows that  
opened whenever the storm activity decreased:  
Oxygen-Nitrogen atmosphere. Some suggestions of water bodies  
large enough to be dubbed oceans perhaps present.  
Considerable doubts of any larger predators looming about.  
No traces of toxicity in the planet's atmosphere.  
  
As it dawned on us soon enough, if we wanted any more clues  
about what was down there, we'd have to take a shuttle down  
and explore. And that's exactly, as the following briefing  
had decided, what we were about to do.  
  
I turn to look back at my two partners and wait for the next  
rejoinder. It is brisk in coming.  
  
"Beauty is irrelevant." Seven shoots back, her eyes cool.  
  
I bite back a snort as the pilot throws up his arms in  
resignation.  
  
"Fun is irrelevant," She marches on, unchallenged, "And the  
assumption that your flight's descent down to the planet's  
surface will be a worthwhile challenge at all weighs  
entirely on your *own* supposed 'capability' at the helm."  
She finishes, her single unhidden brow raised in a  
deliberate challenge.  
  
"Seven, I am offended!" Tom's mock-insulted outcry is almost  
drowned by the sound of Ensign Kim's chuckle over our open  
comm-link from Voyager.  
  
"Nice going, Tom." Harry's grin is audible over the link.  
  
"Glad to hear everything's going just as normally as we  
expected, Commander." Kathryn's amused voice comes over the  
comm.  
  
"No need to worry, Captain. Everything's going smoothly." I  
throw a crooked smile at Tom.  
  
"Yeah, smooth for you, Commander." Tom huffs dramatically.  
"*You* didn't just get your feelings trampled on, did you?"  
  
"Relax, Lieutenant," I give him a bemused look and glance  
back at our Astrometrics Officer, strangely warming up to  
the banter between my crewmates---reluctant or not. "I am  
sure Seven didn't mean anything by it."  
  
"It seems Lieutenant Paris's personal shields are  
malfunctioning." Her steel blue eyes are on the pilot, and  
what looks like cool amusement vying for its place next to  
smooth victory plays on her delicately sharp features. "I am  
afraid in their absence, the journey through the asteroid  
field to the surface below would be a formidable task for  
him."  
  
As Tom concedes with a laugh, Seven's eyes shift from his  
frame to settle on my face. Her eyes lock with mine and for  
one long moment, I am caught in the deep swirling blues of  
them. The direct gaze seems to be probing, their penetrating  
effect on me almost intrusive, as she apparently studies the  
contours of my face, her wandering look both intent and  
intense---the silent inspection leaving me quite unsettled.  
  
And then, just as quickly as her eyes had begun their visual  
forays on my face, she breaks the contact as well. As if  
caught red-handed doing something unauthorized, a strange  
look of contrite uncertainty---the same abashment I'd first  
seen on her face three days back in the messhall---replaces  
her confident foraging of a moment ago, and she abruptly  
drops her gaze. As I stare at her crimson face, I realize I  
find her uncertainty even more unsettling than her haughty  
over-confidence; my brain puzzling over the mystery of her  
ivory-hued cheeks suddenly flushing with something akin to  
embarrassment, as her eyes turn away.  
  
"Commander, let us know as soon as you have set up the  
subspace transceiver on the other side of the disturbance."  
The Captain's over-the-comm voice breaks through the haze  
like a blast of phaser fire and I almost jump in my seat.  
  
I swallow a couple of times to wet my suddenly dry mouth, as  
I turn back to my console.  
  
"Affirmative, Captain." I look at my readings as Paris's  
flying fingers prepare the shuttle for our entry into the  
thick asteroid belt. "Once we enter the stratosphere,  
forming a direct comm-link won't be possible, but we'll  
contact you as soon as we've set up the assembly."  
  
"Understood," Janeway replies. "Its still impossible to get  
a clear picture of what's down there from our sensors. Keep  
us posted when you can, Commander. See you soon."  
  
"Will do so, Captain, and yes, we'll see you soon." I assure  
her. "Chakotay out."  
  
With the link to Voyager closed, I turn my full attention to  
the task at hand. I hear Seven relaying sensor readings to  
Paris's and my stations concurrently and shift my mental  
gears to set my private observations of her behavior aside.  
That can come later. Right now, we have a stream of flying  
asteroids to navigate through.  
  
Irrelevant or not, for a moment as we hurtle onwards to meet  
the skimming chunks of rock and the shimmering crystalline  
fragments glowing and flying in our path, we're all  
transfixed by the sheer magnificence of the spectacle. It  
was impressive from afar, but at such close proximity as we  
are about to experience the entrance at full throttle, and  
with the asteroids screaming along their orbits like a  
racing traffic of high-speed fleet of ships, a collective  
surge of adrenaline spikes through our bodies.  
  
"Okay, here we go." Tom swallows audibly, as he keeps one  
hand on thruster controls, slowing and controlling the  
shuttle's speed, as he expertly guides the small craft into  
the field.  
  
Slight tremors go through the vessel upon our entry, as  
Paris turns the shuttle this way and that, his fingers  
flying to dodge the bigger chunks, as I keep an eye on the  
navigational deflector---watching it force the  
micro-meteorites and other smaller debris away from our  
haphazardly shifting course. The gravitational pull is heavy  
indeed and we struggle to keep the shuttle's trek through  
the asteroids smooth, but Tom's legendary talent at the helm  
isn't just mythical after all, as he valiantly skips past  
zipping hunks of rocks and planet debris strewn across our  
path.  
  
As we reach the middle of the belt, the rush of asteroids  
zooming under and over and along the shuttle's path becomes  
heavier, and the gravitational pull denser. The few sharper  
tremors felt inside tells us of the occasional chunks barely  
grazing past our defenses, the thickness of the pressure  
acutely felt as the vessel makes its way across the field.  
  
"Shields holding," Seven confirms as I recheck the deflector  
readings, my eyes shifting from the viewport to the sensor  
readings, and back again. Everything checks out fine.  
  
With a last heavy shudder that jolts through the shuttle's  
frame, as we dodge a final cluster of asteroids along the  
edge of the belt---their one final bumpy farewell which  
Paris rides with his usual flying flair---we clear the belt  
and come through the other side of the spectacle.  
  
"We're through." Paris releases his breath and I feel myself  
relax incrementally in my seat.  
  
"Good work, Tom." I nod at him.  
  
"Thanks, Commander." He sighs gratefully.  
  
"Five point seven seconds to enter planet's atmosphere."  
Seven announces as my eyes fly back to rest on the sensor  
readings.  
  
"Reading heavy ion storm formations in the lower  
stratosphere." I read from my console.  
  
Tom's fingers are once again moving on the console with  
lightening speed. "Distance from the surface twelve thousand  
kilometers."  
  
"Temperatures rising to six thousand six hundred degrees."  
Seven reports.  
  
There's a jolt as our shields compensate for the varying  
temperature changes as we slide through the thick  
atmosphere. At the uppermost levels of a planet's  
atmosphere, as you go through each distinctive layer, the  
temperature changes from kilometer to kilometer, and a  
lesser vessel might not be able endure the complexities as  
easily. But Davies is equipped with Borg-enhanced shields,  
which were designed especially for this mission by Seven and  
Harry, and a few shudders and jolts are all that we feel as  
we make our descent.  
  
"Sensors detecting high concentration of ionized particles,"  
Seven counts the numbers from her console. "Hull temperature  
dropping to two hundred degrees, region dense with a heavy  
concentration of chemicals in the atmosphere which are  
reacting with the solar energy coming from the system's  
sun."  
  
"All right folks, I've got the touchdown spot noted." Tom  
announces jubilantly. "This is gonna get a little bumpy  
before it gets better."  
  
"But I am sure we couldn't be in safer hands." I grin as my  
eyes linger on my readings. "Distance one fifty kilometers."  
  
As we enter the troposphere, I watch as the silvery-white  
fog of the thick clouds swirling around the vessel suddenly  
replaces the blackness of the space.  
  
"Air pressure rising to fifty kPa. Wind activity  
increasing." Seven intones.  
  
"There we go, baby." Tom murmurs softly as he tames the  
thrusters under his adept hands, his voice gentle and low,  
as if he's speaking to the vessel itself---and judging from  
the rapt expression on his face, he probably is. "I see the  
spot, lets take it nice and easy now."  
  
"Eighty kPa." Another jolt as Seven speaks. "Temperature  
dropping to seventy degrees."  
  
And suddenly, we watch as the clouds part to reveal a lush  
green terrain filled with trees and patches of water  
spattered across its surface. I gasp, feeling Paris too  
freeze next to me for a second, as the sheer beauty of the  
world is finally revealed to us.  
  
"Thirty five degrees. Twenty. Pressure up to hundred and ten  
kPa." Even Seven sounds awed, her voice a little distracted.  
  
Tom's fingers guide the vessel down as all the shuddering  
and jolting finally ends and with a final smooth thump,  
barely felt, the shuttle lands on the clear patch of grass  
the pilot had already noted for touchdown from several  
hundred kilometers above.  
  
He looks at Seven and me expectantly, and I smile at him,  
"That definitely was a 'fun ride', Lieutenant," getting up  
from my seat.  
  
"A most 'capable' performance at the helm indeed." Seven  
rises from her console as well and her remark brings out a  
radiant smile on his face.  
  
"Gee, thanks Seven, that almost makes up for you breaking my  
heart earlier."  
  
I bend over the sensor readings once more. "Gravity 1.2  
Earth normal, tropical weather conditions, temperature 40  
degrees Celsius, plenty of water, fertile soil, dense  
vegetation and abundant mineral deposits." I turn to my  
crewmates and smile. "Neelix and B'Elanna will be damn  
happy. I think we've found the perfect place to stock up our  
draining supplies."  
  
"Oh yeah, and no large life forms registering either." Tom  
jumps up from his chair. "If the weather clears up, we might  
even be able to get the Captain to approve a shore-leave  
schedule."  
  
"One thing at a time, Tom." I shake my finger at him, not  
wanting to but still feeling the reluctant need to suppress  
his bubbling exuberance. "I don't suppose I need to remind  
you why we're here in the first place."  
  
"Oh great, I know," Tom grimaces. "A day long happy  
expedition of collecting samples, mapping areas and taking  
readings of where and in what concentration the minerals are  
located, not to mention 'which', so that we can point out  
the perfect spots to begin excavation when the teams start  
arriving."  
  
"Right."  
  
"You're no fun, Chakotay." He pulls a face and sighs. "Lets  
hope those vegetation patches provide for something better  
than Leola Root."  
  
"In that case, I suggest we get out and begin our  
'exploring'." Seven announces as she moves to the aft of the  
shuttle and releases the hatch of the shuttle door. We  
follow each other out of the shuttle and walk into a  
miniature version of what looks to me like heaven in the  
delta quadrant.  
  
The first thing to greet me is the clean, fresh, terrestrial  
air---thick with tropical humidity---filling my lungs. The  
lushness of the endless greenery around soothes my eyes, as  
I take in a long deep breath of the refreshing air. With the  
sweetness of the various scents permeating the air filling  
me, I scan my surroundings.  
  
We've landed in the middle of a small basin, a grass-filled  
plain that is naturally formed in the shape of a slightly  
sunken few hundred meters wide oval, and is surrounded by  
groves of trees covering us on all sides. Low patches of  
greenery and stalks of grass cover the ground around us,  
which roll sedately as a soft breeze flows down from the  
upland.  
  
My brows wrinkle at the thought that the trees around the  
plain obstruct our view of what lies beyond. Even as my  
spirits lift at the pleasant change of environment, I feel  
this clearing is a little isolated and gives a perception of  
being confined. In a strange alien environment, one must be  
aware of all the possible dangers involved---and for that  
one must know the terrain.  
  
I flip open my tricorder as I make my way out into the  
grassland, walking in a small circle as I make an initial  
circuit of the perimeter around the shuttle.  
  
"There're rock formations about three hundred meters beyond  
these trees," Tom's voice breaks into my haze, his eyes on  
his own tricorder. "Probably a mountain face of some sort,  
and scans indicates raw Deuterium deposits."  
  
"I see them," I nod my head, without looking up from my  
readings. "Along with Titanium, Beryllium and scattered  
deposits of several Magnesium compounds. I also read thick  
vegetation that could prove promising in the edible  
department right up ahead, Lieutenant." I glance his way.  
"You up for a small sample collecting trek?"  
  
"Sure, Commander." He shrugs.  
  
We turn back to the shuttle, and Seven who'd been listening  
in to our conversation follows us inside.  
  
"I'll set up the Dual Subspace Transceiver so that we can  
make contact with Voyager." She says, taking out the  
paraphernalia B'Elanna and Harry had packed into the back of  
the shuttle. The idea was to have a transceiver on both  
sides of the disturbance---in our case the ion storms in the  
planet's stratosphere---so that boosting a comm signal via  
radio connection, through the small cracks occasionally  
forming in the disturbance, could become easier to  
accomplish.  
  
"Do you need a hand?" I ask her.  
  
"No, I am certain I will be able to complete the task before  
you are back from your small 'sample collecting trek'." She  
replies.  
  
I let a hint of a smile show as I nod. "We're not going very  
far. We'll stay in a 300-meters perimeter around the shuttle  
and I insist we keep an open comm-link at all times. And  
better keep the shuttle hatch closed while you're here. I  
don't like the idea of leaving anyone alone for any period  
of time."  
  
She stands back and takes out her phaser, and we watch as  
she changes the setting on the weapon with a flick of her  
thumb before putting it back in the pocket at her right hip.  
"My phaser is now set on heavy stun. Don't come in  
unannounced."  
  
Tom chuckles as we both get the message succinctly. The two  
of us go back to the aft of the shuttle and take out the  
containers and equipment we'll need for collecting samples  
and specimens, and are soon on our way.  
  
We're in no actual hurry as there's plenty of vegetation  
around in all directions to explore, and the initial scans  
have shown the potential this planet holds as far as needed  
minerals are concerned, so we make our trek a leisurely  
stroll up the grassland. Paris keeps up a continuous chatter  
by my side, commenting on every strange alien plant or rock  
or bush he sees, while I make mental notes of everything  
that comes into view.  
  
We climb up the gracefully sloping incline that leads to the  
woods, step onto the platform, the grass lush under our  
feet, and pause, hovering at the threshold. The woods are  
thick, the trees bristly with leafy, blooming branches that  
almost bend to the ground with the lush weight of the  
strangely shaped fruits and leaves, giving them an exotic  
alien appearance.  
  
I slowly turn around to look down the meadow at the  
shuttlecraft. She is standing peacefully in the middle of  
the grassland, and I note the vista behind her is a  
beautiful blend of color and vitality, the daylight peering  
down at the meadow through the thick clouds. I look up at  
the sky and surmise the time right now must be the season's  
mid-afternoon, when it suddenly occurs to me that Paris has  
fallen silent next to me. I turn to look at him and find his  
head tilted to one side, a slight frown on his face.  
  
"What?" I ask.  
  
His head tilts further and his eyes squint as if focusing on  
something far, far away. "Do you hear that?" His eyes shift  
to me.  
  
I feel my heart give an uncertain thud as I peer at his  
scowling face, and strain to listen to the mysterious sound  
he's talking about.  
  
"It's like a strange droning..." His voice trails off as he  
looks off in the distance.  
  
And then I hear it: an unending buzzing sound, a strangely  
continuous flat drone, that I'd probably mistaken for the  
normal rustling that is usually associated with forests. But  
now that I can isolate it in my head, I realize it's  
actually quite different from any sound I'd hear in forests.  
An odd hissing murmur that is ever present, like an ominous  
distant droning of bees, humming about in earnest.  
  
"I hear it too." I nod at Tom.  
  
"Insects?" He states the obvious and I nod again.  
  
"That's what it sounds like... some kind of bees maybe."  
  
He looks about in consternation. "But you can't see  
anything."  
  
I follow his gaze. He's right. We haven't seen any life  
forms so far; no crawling insects, no flies buzzing around,  
no fuzzy little critters scampering about. I look up at the  
sky. Not a bird in sight. We couldn't even tell if there  
were supposed to be any birds in this world or not.  
  
"But the initial scans proposed there were probably no  
*larger* animals registering, we should see some small  
ones." I look at my companion again and raise a brow when I  
see him fiddling with his phaser.  
  
"Planning to shoot at bees with your phaser, Paris?" I grin  
at him.  
  
"No, I had just forgotten to set it on high stun." He shoves  
it back in his pocket and then frowns at me. "How the hell  
*do* you escape from an attack from bees in a crunch  
anyway?"  
  
I look down at the ground and see several pieces of fallen  
branches scattered ubiquitously, and scuff at a couple with  
the point of my boots. "Well, for starters you could build a  
makeshift torch by binding the bark of some trees to one end  
of this branch. Smoke tends to avert or distract an attack  
like that while you make your escape."  
  
"Oh great," Paris gives me a funny look. "I've heard all  
about your fire-starting skills, Commander. You'll probably  
get us all killed while you're trying to start that fire."  
  
I chuckle at him. "Well, if you don't trust my survival  
skills, you can always find a body of water to jump into,  
Lieutenant. Bees don't swim."  
  
"Hey that's a great idea." Tom smirks, as he starts to walk  
again. "Let's go look for water to jump into in case we get  
attacked."  
  
I shake my head at him, as we enter the forest. "You know  
what?" I ask him, my eyes again surveying our  
surroundings---the continuous strange drone somehow sounding  
thicker in the thickness of the woods.  
  
"What?" He asks.  
  
"If you don't like either of those ideas, you can always  
take out the spray can with the title SE-IA from your  
backpack. The title stands for 'Survival Equipment---Insects  
Attack'. It sprays a cloud of cool compressed gas that is  
specifically used for situations like that." I smile. "Its  
part of every survival kit and has proven to be very  
effective in tropical climates."  
  
Paris glances at me, an incredulous expression on his face.  
"And I always wondered what the 'IA' stood for. I never had  
the need to use it on any of our survival skill hikes."  
  
"Then consider yourself lucky." I smile as I open my  
tricorder again, beginning my scanning of the vegetation  
once more. My eyes linger on the pathway we're on and look  
at the trees on both my sides.  
  
"Look at this trail," I point to Paris. "It's almost as if  
it is a usual one taken by an animal, judging from the worn  
out shrubs along its sides."  
  
"Yeah," Tom bends down to look at the low-lying underbrush  
at our feet. "It looks a bit trampled."  
  
I join him on the floor, picking at the leaves with a pair  
of pliers I've taken out from my pack. "Yes, but the degree  
of discoloration suggests the trampling must have happened  
quite a while back." I point the tricorder at the bush.  
"According to this, the decaying of the leaves occurred  
approximately seven weeks back. Since then, the plant has  
grown back but at a sedate rate perhaps."  
  
"Maybe it's just the season, the climate, maybe they just  
grow slow in this season." Tom suggests.  
  
"Perhaps." I nod at him. "That sounds very plausible."  
  
"That means there should be animals visible around, right?"  
He looks at me.  
  
Before I can answer him, though, our combadges crackle into  
life.  
  
"Janeway to away team."  
  
I smile at the pilot as I answer the hail. "Chakotay here.  
Its good to hear your voice, Captain."  
  
"Its good to hear your voice too." Kathryn responds. "We've  
been waiting on the edges of our seats to hear from you."  
  
"Good work, Seven." I speak into the combadge, as both Tom  
and I get up from our crouch---suddenly realizing that I'd  
forgotten my own instructions of staying in constant touch  
with each other, so engrossed I was in the alien  
surroundings. "That surely was efficient work. Thanks."  
  
"No need to thank me, Commander." Seven's voice comes from  
behind us as we turn around to watch her coming into the  
foliage to join us. "I had as much 'fun' putting the  
transceiver together as evidently you and Lieutenant Paris  
had discussing probable methods of escape from bees attacks  
and ascertaining the decaying factor of dead vegetation."  
  
Tom grins at her and then at me, as Kathryn's husky chuckle  
comes over the comm-line.  
  
"I can see you're still having a good time with those two,  
Commander." She says.  
  
"As always, Captain." I look closely at Seven, a small smile  
on my face, as she returns my gaze for a few seconds before  
looking around at her surroundings.  
  
"All right, back to business." Kathryn says, her tone  
quickly shifting from playful to serious. "Now that the  
transceiver is working on the other side, we're not only  
able to establish a communication link with you, but also  
our sensors are able to penetrate the disturbance now."  
  
"That's great." I answer. "What do you read?"  
  
"In the western hemisphere, where you've landed, and which  
evidently is the only place our sensors can effectively work  
because of the booster signal originating from there---there  
is plenty of mineral deposits that we could use, and  
possible edible fruits and vegetables as well."  
  
"Yes, our scans indicate we could harvest some of these  
vegetables for the food stores." I look at Tom who nods at  
me. Both our readings so far indicate the same.  
  
"Perfect." Janeway replies. "Perhaps you can start  
collecting some samples while you're exploring."  
  
"We're on it, Captain." I say.  
  
"One more thing," Janeway says. "Our sensors picked up just  
one single type of native life form in your area."  
  
My brows wrinkle as I look at Tom. "Just one type?"  
  
"I noticed it as well." Seven speaks. "I checked the several  
bio-signatures of the life signs our sensors were detecting  
in this area, and they're identical in all ways. There's  
only one kind of life form in this perimeter at least."  
  
"That is strange." I look from Seven back to Tom.  
  
"But it's a smaller life form, from what our sensors can  
detect." The Captain sounds slightly apprehensive.  
  
"That is correct." Seven replies.  
  
"Have you seen anything?" Janeway asks.  
  
"No, but we believe we've heard something." Tom answers,  
looking at me.  
  
"All right. Please report once you've surveyed a larger  
area, and if you find anything unusual." The Captain says.  
"Janeway out."  
  
With the link from Voyager disconnected, I turn to my away  
team. "All right, let's get to work, and stick close." I  
turn back to the trail Paris and I had been following  
earlier and am about to start walking when the pilot stops  
me.  
  
"Commander, maybe we should take a round of this area in the  
shuttle," He says. "Look around the terrain, pick out the  
best spots for foraging or excavation or whatever."  
  
"Maybe later," I shake my head. "Right now I want to keep  
doing what we're doing. Spend a few hours on foot. There's  
plenty of area we can check out that way."  
  
"But if I take a short trip in the shuttle," Tom begins  
again. "I can figure out the surroundings of this area,  
while you guys explore on foot."  
  
I turn to face him completely. "No." I tell him firmly. "I  
told you we won't separate. We have no idea what lies beyond  
these trees."  
  
"But we have already separated once." It's Seven, who looks  
at me with her direct gaze, her one brow raised in a  
question. "You left me in the shuttle, while you and  
Lieutenant Paris came here to explore."  
  
"But we hadn't gone far away." I make an effort to keep my  
voice controlled, as I feel my patience suddenly running  
thin. Had to be my luck to be stuck with the two people who  
would always question my orders. "We could still see where  
the shuttle was. We were in direct comm-link. If anything  
had happened, we could always return to the shuttle. We  
*will* work together, all three of us. If there had been a  
fourth crewmember, I would've allowed us to break into  
groups of twos, but that is not an option right now."  
  
"That is an inefficient way to work." Seven's voice turns  
cold, her suddenly blazing eyes making me feel like a  
specimen in one of the EMH's petri dishes. "If we break off  
in singles, we could get the work done faster."  
  
"Inefficient or not, it is the *safest* way to work in an  
alien environment such as this." I grit my teeth and stare  
hard at her. "I can't allow any of us to get separated,  
especially now that we know there is only one kind of life  
form prevalent in this environment, one that we haven't the  
*slightest* idea what its like. And that's an *order*. We  
*will* stay together. So that if anything goes wrong, we can  
help each other. Do you understand?"  
  
There's a long moment as the ex-Borg looks at me with  
strangely glistening eyes, her jaw set. And then she  
swallows and nods curtly. "Yes, Commander."  
  
I turn to Tom. "Paris?"  
  
"Yes, Sir." The pilot nods, a slightly repentant look on his  
face. He probably had no idea his suggestion would spiral  
out of control like this.  
  
"Good." I nod at both of them, and then turn around. "This  
is where we were headed earlier. Let's continue on our  
trail."  
  
The three of us follow the trail, the air strangely thick  
with tension as I feel their silence hanging around me like  
a suffocating curtain of intractability. I am not sure whose  
obstinacy it is that I feel, though, theirs or mine?  
  
The silence finally breaks as we come across a carcass of a  
small animal. I crouch down and study the bones closely. The  
state of the cadaver suggests the flesh was ripped apart  
right from the bones, no sign of skin or flesh remains on  
the carcass. I look at my tricorder readings and nod.  
  
"The bone decay suggests it was killed around seven weeks  
back." I look up at my companions. "The same time as the  
trampled plants."  
  
"Do you think this is our lone life form?" Tom looks at the  
corpse.  
  
I shrug---a stray bleak thought coming to my mind, which I  
try to ignore as I get up.  
  
"Or perhaps, it is the victim." Seven looks at the bones and  
then at me, as if she's read my mind.  
  
"I was afraid to say that." I look at her, sensing a change  
in her mood. Her eyes have lost their hard glint, and her  
mouth has softened as she looks down to the cadaver and back  
at my face. I look at Tom's suddenly pale face and realize  
that after seeing this evidence, neither of them would want  
to be separated from the rest of the team.  
  
I nod at them reassuringly. "Come on. Let's start collecting  
samples."  
  
We get to work. Harvesting edible fruits and vegetables  
isn't that hard to do so when there's so much variety  
around. Take a sample of the vegetable or fruit, put it in  
the test-kit, key in the code to assess the viability and to  
see whether its edible or not, and then if proven to be  
okay, put it in a separate labeled container. We did throw  
away quite a few samples because they were toxic, or as Tom  
said: "too close to Leola Root in appearance", but within  
two hours since we'd begun our harvesting, we'd collected a  
pretty good variety of fresh vegetables, fruits and  
seedlings.  
  
The three of us take several trips back and forth from the  
shuttle to leave our harvested supplies in the aft portion,  
always staying together, and expand our surveying perimeter  
a few meters ahead every time we begin a new round. Finally,  
while following the same trail, we come across a second  
clearing that is very much like the one our shuttle has been  
parked in. This was where, as we realize, the mineral  
readings had come from.  
  
In front of us are several hilly areas that we'd detected  
from the shuttle, along with a thin creek filled with  
sparkling clear water. With the tricorder, we assure the  
viability of the water---it's drinkable---and take detailed  
readings of the places where the needed minerals can be  
detected and then, return to the edge of the woods again,  
going back to our vegetable hunting.  
  
I find another set of bones next to a tree and hunker down  
to take more detailed readings. My brow wrinkles as I  
realize this carcass is different from the last one we'd  
seen---this one was a different species than the one we  
scanned before. I shake my head, my mind puzzling over this  
mystery. We've only seen cadavers and not a single living  
animal around so far. What could this mean? What happened on  
this world?  
  
It's while I am noting the scans giving information about  
the tissue degradation on the cadaver when I suddenly  
realize that the forest has gone absolutely still. I feel  
the tiny hairs at my nape stand up as a shiver goes through  
me at the realization that even that ever present strange  
droning has ended. Not a peep can be heard from anywhere  
around us. I look up at the sky and determine the time to be  
around late-afternoon---the light has gotten dimmer with the  
passage of time and with the cloud covering becoming  
thicker.  
  
I look for my team and see Paris scraping away at a bush a  
short distance away, but find that Seven is nowhere to be  
seen. Alarmed, I get up from my crouch, my brows wrinkling  
at the thought that she may have disobeyed my orders and  
gone her own separate way and am about to hit my combadge  
when I hear a rustle behind me.  
  
"Commander." I almost jump at Seven's voice, startled by her  
sudden appearance.  
  
"Seven!" The surprise in my voice is clear and the  
expression on her face changes to one of apology.  
  
"Commander, I didn't mean to startle you." She explains.  
  
"That's okay," I shake my head as I stand up straight. "You  
just took me a little by surprise. What did you want?"  
  
She hesitates a moment before squaring her shoulders and  
looking straight into my eyes. "May I ask you to turn off  
your three-way comm-link for a private conversation?"  
  
I stare at her face a moment, puzzled by her strange  
request. "Seven, if it has anything to do with your  
suggestion of breaking off into singles..."  
  
"No. It has nothing to do with this mission." Seven  
interrupts me. "It's a personal matter."  
  
I stare at her a second, my mind puzzling over what she may  
have to say to me, and then look at Paris---only to find him  
looking at both of us from his bush several dozen meters  
away, obviously having heard our conversation up till now.  
  
"Stay in sight, Tom." I instruct him and after getting his  
affirmative reply, I punch my badge to close the link. Seven  
does the same.  
  
"I am all ears." I turn my attention to her.  
  
She looks at me a little uncertainly, swallows and then  
looks down at the ground---obviously nervous about  
something. I am perplexed and a little doubtful of what she  
wants to say as well---I've never seen her so undecided  
before.  
  
"Seven, what's wrong?" I ask, feeling my brows furrow in  
concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," She begins, looking up at my face again, "I mean no,  
there is a matter of deep concern that has me somewhat  
conflicted." Her brows furrow and then once again, she  
squares her shoulders and straightens her spine. Her eyes  
lose their uncertain glint and she looks me straight in the  
eye, as if coming to a decision. "Perhaps, this might sound  
a little intrusive to you, Commander, but I've noticed your  
slight distraction over the last few days."  
  
She pauses for a breath and within that second, a sudden  
infusion of bewildering, confusing thoughts floods my mind.  
What the hell is she talking about?  
  
"Distraction?" My voice turns cooler.  
  
"Yes," She continues on, not noticing my sudden aversion to  
this topic---*whatever* this topic is. "You've seemed a  
little subdued than your normal self. You've been avoiding  
crowds, interacting with less and less people, coming to the  
messhall for your meals when none of your friends are  
there..."  
  
"With all due respect Seven," I interrupt her bluntly,  
feeling hot fury suddenly inundating my whole being at this  
forced infringement. "How I spend my off-duty hours  
shouldn't be anyone's concern but mine."  
  
"You don't understand," She stares at me hard. "I know about  
Kellin."  
  
I know my mouth has fallen open at this revelation. I find  
myself unable to form a response as my mouth works for a few  
seconds in vain but no words come out.  
  
"You *do* know about her." She looks at me closely, her eyes  
probing, the same feeling of being closely scrutinized by  
her that I'd felt in the shuttle once again overwhelming me.  
"You *did* keep some kind of record."  
  
"How the hell do you know about that?" I finally find my  
voice. "There were no records in the ship's database, how  
*can* you know that?" I growl at her, once again feeling  
like a specimen in that petri dish, so vulnerable this  
feeling of being needlessly exposed is.  
  
She hesitates. "My Borg systems enabled me to keep a record  
of those memories."  
  
I snap in impatience, suddenly turning from her and walking  
into the woods. "You've known all this time and you kept  
this to *yourself*? Why didn't you make a report of your  
findings to the Captain or to *me*?"  
  
The expression on her face changes to one of surprise,  
perhaps at my sudden explosion of anger, as she follows me  
into the grove. "Commander, I only found out ten days  
earlier. I didn't make an actual connection with you until I  
realized your replicator usage for nutritional consumption  
had drastically fallen and then..."  
  
"You've been keeping *tabs* on my replicator usage?" My  
voice rises in outrage. I can't believe what I ever did to  
warrant such wanton meddling in my personal affairs. "What  
else have you been doing? Breaking into my private records,  
snooping behind my back at everything I *do*?"  
  
I realize something is wrong with this whole scenario, that  
I am reading the situation completely wrong, the moment a  
look of something I thought I'd never see on Seven's face  
passes through her sparkling blue eyes---genuine  
unadulterated pain.  
  
"That's not how I'd intended it to be seen," she chokes out,  
her eyes suddenly dulling as she presses her lips together.  
  
I don't get a chance to think about her reaction, though.  
  
Because suddenly the whole forest comes alive.  
  
The buzzing sound, that insistent continuous droning, that  
had disappeared a while back, suddenly comes back in full  
force---only this time its much stronger, its intensity  
almost ferocious. Startled, I look around us, seeing the  
concern on Seven's face as well, and start when I hear Tom's  
shout.  
  
"Commander."  
  
I scramble out to the clearing, my ears ringing at the  
fierce noise, and see Tom running to our side, his face pale  
with what can only be described as fear.  
  
"Chakotay, look at that." He turns and points to the  
horizon.  
  
I stare at the spot in the sky where he's pointing and feel  
my heart start to thud in trepidation. From the distance it  
looks like a dark cloud racing down to the forest, something  
alive, bustling, roiling with life.  
  
The first thought that comes to me is that they're a flock  
of birds, flying in a formation or something. And then I  
look up at the sky---the sound of ominous droning rising  
with every passing nanosecond and suddenly, I have made the  
connection.  
  
"What the hell do you think they...?" Tom starts but I don't  
let him finish. I push him towards the trees and turn to  
Seven and yell.  
  
"Start *running*---to the *shuttle*."  
  
"I left my equipment back at that site." Tom begins but I  
grab his arm and pull him into the woods.  
  
"FORGET IT." I scream. "Now MOVE!"  
  
They get the message as the swarming cloud of whatever the  
hell those creatures are dives down at the clearing and we  
dash into the woods, running for our lives, our phasers out  
in our hands, our feet stampeding through the trail as we  
weave our way through the trees.  
  
The swarm follows us, hovering about the trees, their  
buzzing louder, somehow sounding different at this close  
proximity---almost like a snarling hiss that sends shivers  
down my spine. The distance to the shuttle is not that  
large, only four hundred meters or so, but running between  
the bristly thick trees while making sure we don't fall down  
is difficult, and the swarm's presence above is blocking the  
sunlight---making it difficult for us to see our way ahead.  
  
Suddenly, one of the creatures dives inside the trees and I  
fire at it and miss, the phaser blast instead hitting a tall  
tree---and a branch breaks and falls behind us.  
  
"Keep RUNNING." I yell at my companions, as the same  
creature changes directions and comes at us from the front.  
I aim my phaser at it and fire again, this time my blast  
joined in force by one from Tom's weapon. Just before it  
explodes in the phaser beam, we get our first look of the  
creature---grisly ugly head, large compound eyes, veined  
wings, bristly antennae, sharp fangs---it's almost like a  
huge foot-wide flying insect of some sort.  
  
"Oh SHIT." Tom groans as the severity of the situation dawns  
on all of us. We're in deep trouble. In the trees there's at  
least a slight cover---though not real protection---but what  
will happen when we make our way to the shuttle under the  
clear sky? I bend down and grab a few thick branches from  
the ground, throwing one each at my companions as I shove  
mine into a hoop hanging loose from the trekking belt I've  
got around my waist, my feet never halting in their steady  
dash behind my crewmates.  
  
More creatures dive, more phaser blasts are fired---all  
three of us firing in reckless abandon---as more branches  
burn and fall around us. Stumbling, rolling, staggering, we  
run almost blindly, barely keeping our feet on the trail,  
until finally, with our chests heaving with exertion, we're  
out of the grove and under the open sky. The shuttle is  
visible from this point, standing in the middle of the  
meadow---the sky is darker above us, even without the swarm  
at our heels.  
  
This time a drove of flies descends on us. Tom has taken the  
SE-IA can out of his pack and he uses both his weapons  
simultaneously---sending a fog of condensed gas up at the  
snarling beasts as well as the phaser blast pointed at one  
of the creatures. I watch two creatures fall to the ground  
as the three of us keep our steady stampede down the slope  
and into the grassland.  
  
I suddenly feel myself stumble and stagger on the unsteady  
ground, barely catching my step, as I hear a gnarling hiss  
from right behind me. I turn around and aim at the fly  
diving for me, my other hand on the branch, ready to use  
whatever means I have at disposal to fight for my life as I  
fire. As the creature falls to the grass in front of me, I  
hear Tom's painful scream from behind me. I turn around and  
watch aghast the horrifying sight of my pilot struggling  
with one creature that has grabbed him by its snapping jaws.  
  
"Tom!" I yell as I fire at the fly attacking him and curse  
as I miss the aim. I run towards him, barely aware of the  
cover Seven is providing me as she fires at the swarm above  
us, the branch held in my hand like a sword. The huge fly's  
fangs are closed around Tom's nape, and with a blind rage, I  
shove at the ghastly beast with the end of my stick, its  
wings continuously in motion. Its jaws loose their grip and  
I fire at it at point blank range and watch as it shrivels  
into a burnt mass of melting flesh.  
  
I grab Tom before he can fall to the ground, but his eyes  
are losing their focus, his body almost limp in my arms.  
  
"COMMANDER." Seven yells. "We must MOVE."  
  
"Tom, you've gotta WALK." I urge the pilot.  
  
"I can't..." He chokes, his breath coming short, as he  
blinks up at my face, "I can't move, Chakotay."  
  
I throw my arms under his shoulders and pull his feet up,  
straightening his body. "You have to TRY." I order. "I'll  
HELP you."  
  
I drag him towards the shuttle, now barely a hundred meters  
away, while Seven keeps up a steady stream of weapons fire  
at diving droves. But in a manner of seconds, it has become  
clear to me that whatever was in that fly's bite has  
affected Tom's mobility. He barely twitches as I lay him  
down on the ground, turning to fire my phaser at another  
attacking fly.  
  
"Commander?" Seven looks at me in confusion.  
  
"He can't WALK." I tell her as I bend the pilot's body at  
the waist, pulling his arms over my shoulders. "So I am  
gonna CARRY him." I hoist him up on my shoulders and with a  
grunt, stand up, feeling his dead weight along my limbs as I  
once again hustle my way towards the shuttle. My hands  
struggle as I strain to keep the pilot's body balanced on my  
one shoulder and I realize I can't use my phaser anymore so  
I throw it to Seven. "LEAD THE WAY." I nod at her.  
  
She gets the message. From that point on, I have no idea how  
many creatures dove down and attacked us as we staggered  
towards the shuttle through the knee high grass. All I am  
aware of is the steady flow of phaser fire from the two  
weapons held in Seven's hands as she aims with what must  
have been remarkable accuracy, because the attack of fangs  
on my neck or shoulder that I'd been dreading since the  
swarm first appeared never came.  
  
Finally, we reach the shuttle and Seven briskly opens the  
hatch as I stagger inside with my weight. Just as soon as  
all of us are inside and the hatch is banged closed, we hear  
the sound of creatures slamming into the hull---the sound of  
their thudding against the titanium plating full of anger  
and hostility. I lay Tom down on the portable biobed that  
slides out of a wall in the aft section at the push of a  
button, as Seven brings out a tricorder and begins scanning  
him.  
  
I hear her read out the diagnosis---unknown toxic substance  
has damaged the nerve tissue, resulting in partial to   
complete loss of the ability to use involuntary muscles---  
her voice strained with worry, as with shaking hands I   
establish a link with Voyager again.  
  
"Chakotay, what is it?" Kathryn asks.  
  
"We're in trouble. Tom is hurt. We were attacked. Can you  
establish a transporter lock on him through the  
transceiver?"  
  
There's a pause as she checks the status with Harry. And  
then she replies. "Negative. The subspace signal is too weak  
for a transport attempt. What happened?"  
  
"I have no time to explain. I am establishing a datalink  
through the transceiver. Please get the Doctor online, we'll  
need his advice RIGHT AWAY."  
  
"You've got it." Kathryn's worried voice comes through.  
  
I power the engine and bring the shields back online and  
with that, hear the furious thumping against our hull fizzle  
out. Then I go back to the biobed where Seven is working on  
Tom. His breathing is labored, his eyes closed. The  
tricorder scans tell us that his heart is closing, slowly  
losing its ability to beat because of the paralysis  
spreading. I watch as Seven places a small device on his  
forehead.  
  
"A Neural Transducer." She explains. "It should transmit the  
nerve impulses it receives from his brain to the affected  
involuntary muscle groups."  
  
I stare at our gasping helmsman, see his dwindling  
bio-readings on the tricorder, and realize he needs to be in  
the sickbay. Neither Seven nor I are trained to help him in  
the condition he's in.  
  
As the EMH comes online and starts speaking to Seven, I look  
at her and realize she's no less affected by the situation  
than I am. Her brow is wrinkled with fear, her throat  
convulses as she swallows a knot of worry with much  
difficulty. My eyes fixed on her face, I hand her a hypo the  
EMH advises to be injected into Tom and place my hand on her  
wrist. "Work on Tom." I tell her as she looks into my eyes.  
"Listen to what the EMH says. I am gonna get us out of here  
right *now*."  
  
With that I turn around and walk back to the helm, settling  
in the chair with a quiet determination.  
  
I am not going to let Tom die. I won't fail him, won't fail  
Seven. Not when it was only supposed to be an innocent  
harvesting mission. I can't afford to.  
  
I fire the thrusters and the shuttlecraft lifts up, my eyes  
fixed on the readings. I hear the Doc announce that Tom  
desperately needs to be in the sickbay to be treated  
properly and I softly murmur under my breath.  
  
"Hang on Paris. We're on our way."  
  
The ride back up the atmosphere isn't laden with the same  
sense of awe we'd encountered on our way down. The rise and  
drops in the hull temperature doesn't fill me with the sense  
of wonder I felt while Tom was at the helm. This time  
around, the only thing on my mind is that I have to get out  
of the disturbance as soon as possible, so that Tom can be  
transported to the sickbay. I take no notice of the jolts  
and shoves and jabs the shuttle experiences as we pass  
through the heavy ion activity in the stratosphere. I see  
the green blues of the damned world below us get replaced by  
the swirling nebulae of silver-white clouds and heave a  
strange sigh of relief.  
  
The computer announces the sudden temperature drops and  
increases in its mechanical voice, as we rise through the  
atmospheric levels, and I only lend half an ear to them---my  
fingers constantly moving on my controls, my eyes firmly  
fixed on the viewport in front of me.  
  
My attention strays back to the aft of the shuttle where  
Seven is still working on Tom, even as we break atmosphere  
and the blackness of space finally comes into full view.  
  
"Voyager, can you get a lock on Tom now?" I growl into my  
combadge.  
  
"Negative." Kathryn's worried voice comes over the link.  
"Chakotay, the gravitational pull in the asteroid belt is  
interfering with the signal. You'll have to..."  
  
"Fine, we're coming *through*." I announce, cutting her off  
in the middle, as my fingers fly on the console as if moving  
of their own accord. I steady the speed of entry as I plunge  
into the asteroid belt, not caring about anything but to get  
my crewmates home safely---in one piece.  
  
There's no finesse in this return voyage through the  
asteroid field. My eyes don't linger on the flying chunks of  
rocks hurtling past our shields to admire their spectacular  
beauty but rather to think up ways to barely evade the  
wonders as best and as fast as possible. We get hit a few  
times, the jolts nearly dislodging me from my seat but I  
hang on with a strange, energizing sense of resolve.  
  
Tom will probably make fun of my flying, but he'll be amazed  
at my speed record.  
  
"Shields down to seventy percent." I hear Seven's voice  
behind me from the science station. I don't ask her why she  
is sitting there and not standing at Tom's side, my heart  
shrinking in fear at the thought of what her answer might  
be.  
  
And at last, after what seems like an eternity, with one  
final lurch as we bump past the thick, streaming edge of the  
field, we've cleared the asteroid belt.  
  
"Voyager?" I yell into the combadge.  
  
"We've got a lock on him." Kathryn replies. "Energizing."  
And then after a moment, "We've got him. Good work,  
Chakotay. We're coming over to meet your shuttle at  
mid-point."  
  
I feel myself go limp with relief as I punch the auto-pilot  
on and turn to face Seven.  
  
She's sitting at the science station, her head bowed in  
abject misery, and my heart thuds at the picture of sheer  
helplessness she paints.  
  
"Seven, how was he?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice  
calm.  
  
She looks up and her fear-filled eyes meet mine.  
"Unconscious. Barely breathing. His heart was struggling. I  
injected him with the antidote and implanted the Neural  
Stimulator into his central nervous system."  
  
"You did all you could." I tell her. "He's going be all  
right."  
  
She drops her eyes, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere on  
the floor. I watch as she swallows heavily. "If we'd done as  
I'd suggested, if we'd broken off in singles, when the  
creatures attacked, all of us would've been defenseless."  
  
I frown at her. "But we didn't."  
  
"If I'd persuaded you to let Lieutenant Paris take the  
shuttle for that survey," She looks up at my eyes. "We  
wouldn't have been able to return to the shuttle in time."  
  
"But we didn't break off, Seven." I tell her, as I feel a  
strange lump forming in my throat at her unfounded guilt.  
"We stayed *together*."  
  
"But if he had taken the shuttle," She implores at me with  
her shimmering blue eyes. "If he'd gotten attacked while he  
was away from us, or if we'd gotten attacked while the  
shuttle wasn't close by, one of us or all of us could've  
gotten killed."  
  
"But we *didn't*, Seven." I raise my voice in desperation,  
trying to penetrate through this strange haze she's fallen  
into. "I *wouldn't* have let you do that. We stayed  
*together*. And we're all right. Tom is going to be all  
right."  
  
She stares at me for a long moment and then drops her eyes  
again. I stare at her drooped shoulders, my heart beating  
furiously in my chest at the sight of her so filled with  
pain and self-recrimination.  
  
The strange angry conversation I'd had with her, right  
before the attack, comes back to me---and in this new  
perspective, it finally occurs to me that I had been wrong  
to judge her so harshly. She wasn't trying to be intrusive.  
This woman who is sitting in the chair in front of me,  
feeling guilty about things that are not her fault, couldn't  
have meant to hurt me. I misunderstood her, criminally so.  
  
"Seven," I call out her name. "I am sorry for how I spoke  
with you down on the planet."  
  
She looks up at me, her eyes squinting in question.  
  
"When you tried to tell me about how you know about Kellin."  
I swallow hard. "I was wrong to speak with you like that.  
Please forgive me."  
  
She stares at me as if she can't understand what I am  
saying. "There's no need to apologize, Commander." She  
blinks. "It was *my* fault. I should never have violated  
your privacy like that."  
  
I frown at her. "No, you don't understand what I am saying,  
Seven." I sigh impatiently, upset at the fact that she isn't  
accepting my words. "I am apologizing to you. You're not at  
fault. *I* am."  
  
"You're wrong, Commander." She straightens her shoulders, a  
hint of her characteristic stubbornness returning to her  
posture. "It was my fault. All of it."  
  
"Seven!"  
  
My exasperated cry is drowned out by the computer's  
announcement that we're approaching our destination. I turn  
around and see Voyager's welcome appearance looming at us  
from the viewport.  
  
I glance back at her and notice her eyes on her sensors, her  
jaw once more set. I want to speak to her, to clarify  
things, to make her understand that it wasn't her fault,  
that she didn't do anything wrong, but there's no time right  
now.  
  
Voyager's shuttlebay doors are opening. The Captain's voice  
is on the comm welcoming us back. Its time to go home.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
"I must say, Commander Chakotay's and Seven's timely  
intervention and the subsequent emergency treatment of  
Mister Paris as per my apt instructions helped save his  
life." The Doctor is speaking to the Captain, as Seven and I  
stand to one side of his office and listen. "Also if Mister  
Paris hadn't gotten back to the sickbay as fast as he did,  
thanks to the Commander's astounding flying skills, he  
wouldn't have been recovering as nicely as he is right now."  
  
"Agreed." The Captain nods. "How long before he can get back  
on his feet?"  
  
"Although all traces of the toxic substance have been purged  
from his system," The Doctor replies. "He went through  
severe neurological and cardiovascular trauma. All the  
damage has been repaired but I'd like to keep him under  
observation for the next twenty four hours."  
  
"Very well." Kathryn agrees. "Thank you, Doctor."  
  
"Well, now that this task is done, I must return to my  
patient." The EMH says as he picks up a tricorder and walks  
out of the office, leaving the three of us alone.  
  
Kathryn looks at us. "I'll wait for you to submit your  
reports in forty eight hours. You are both off duty until  
then. I can wait to hear about what the hell happened down  
there until you're ready."  
  
I nod at her. "It was a chaotic situation. Out of our  
control. It will all be in my report."  
  
Janeway shakes her head. "A simple harvesting mission. You  
never know what you're going to find out there."  
  
"My data was inadequate." Seven's spine straightens as she  
looks at Kathryn. "I should never have suggested we explore  
this system."  
  
I sigh in aggravation, and am about to tell her how wrong  
she is when Kathryn beats me to it.  
  
"It wasn't your decision." The Captain looks straight at  
Seven. "Your data wasn't inadequate, it was simply  
promising, just like all such data that needs exploring.  
Anything can happen on an away mission, that possibility is  
always there. If there's anyone to blame for what happened,  
its me. I ordered you to go down there."  
  
Seven blinks, not saying anything.  
  
Kathryn continues, her tone softer this time. "You did an  
exemplary job on this mission, you saved Tom's life. Do you  
understand?"  
  
The ex-Drone swallows before squaring her shoulders. "Yes,  
Captain."  
  
"Go get some rest now." The Captain instructs her. "You're  
all exhausted."  
  
Seven nods, her suddenly unreadable eyes shifting to me for  
a second, before she turns around and walks out of the  
sickbay.  
  
"What happened, Chakotay?" Kathryn is asking me. "Did Seven  
have a problem with you down there?"  
  
I look at the Captain, marveling at her keen perceptiveness.  
"No, of course not." I reply, keeping my voice calm. "She's  
just upset that Tom got hurt, that's all."  
  
Kathryn stares at me a moment and then nods. "Well, if  
that's the case then she'll soon be all right, I am sure."  
  
I nod. "Don't worry, Kathryn, I'll speak with her." My eyes  
shift to stare at the closed sickbay doors. "She'll be all  
right." I sigh. "Everything's going to be all right."  
  
Yes, everything will be fine.  
  
That's the only thing I am sure of right now. I don't know  
how but I just know that somehow I'll work it out.  
  
Somehow I'll make her understand.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
Continued in Memory 3 of4 


	3. Part 3

TITLE: "Memory" Part 3 of 4  
AUTHOR: Layla V.  
CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/chakotayseven  
ARCHIVING: Sure. Just let me know where.  
FANDOM: Star Trek Voyager  
PAIRING: Chakotay/Seven  
RATING: PG-13.  
CODES: Slightly A/U. Angst. H/c.  
SUMMARY: What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's  
memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as  
we'd thought at first?  
DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Paramount. I am merely  
playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
NOTES: Major thanks to Sorcha for her invaluable suggestions  
and betaing. Also thanks to Kristin for her encouragement  
without which I could never have been able to finish this.  
:)  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
This Story won *First Place* in the Bowl First Kiss contest!  
http://www.geocities.com/the_fresh_bowl/contest.html  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
  
  
Dreams filling my mind's eye. Events that unfolded around me  
in a not so recent past. Memories assailing me, disturbing  
me, comforting me.  
  
My first look into his mind.  
  
His voice. A soft, soothing hail rising above the cacophony  
of never-ending noise. Millions of voices speaking together,  
directing my thoughts, telling me what to do. Yet that one  
voice drowning all others with it's enticing, luring, velvet  
timbre.  
  
/Annika. Listen to your human side. To yourself. The little  
girl./  
  
His voice. Urgent. Urging. Pleading. It's silken resonating  
tones washing over my whole being, tingling my nerve endings  
with a spark I'd never felt before. A spark of vitality and  
passion. A sea of faces and memories---its frenzied waves  
rising and crashing against the jagged, craggy rocks of  
uncertainty---of confusion. But his voice leading me.  
Guiding me. Calling me.  
  
/I can see your memories. You remember being human./  
  
My eyes on the viewscreen on Voyager's bridge, my human hand  
grabbing the console at the helm as the injection tubules  
snake out of the implant on my Borg wrist and penetrate the  
helm controls. I hear the Collective in my mind.  
  
/Alter course to bring the Alpha Quadrant vessel to  
Unimatrix 368, grid 0015./  
  
His voice. Yielding, tempting. His memories inundating my  
consciousness, his thoughts entangling the perfection of  
harmony in my mind. Filling me with confusion, disrupting my  
order. My voice rising in a wounded roar of denial.  
  
/We are Borg. Your appeal to my humanity is pointless./  
  
The cacophony inside my head increasing in its perfect,  
hideous order. Millions of voices speaking as one. Their  
presence sharply felt in my mind, in his mind. His voice  
rising in alarm, rising in fear.  
  
/Stop what you're doing. You're human. I can hear your  
thoughts. We are one./  
  
And then a new vision filling my mind. Events that couldn't  
have been a part of my memories because they never occurred.  
Yet they are images that come unbidden, propelling into my  
mind, uninvited.  
  
A Borg vessel appearing on the viewscreen. My tubules  
interacting with Voyager's systems, disrupting their  
defenses, dropping their shields. The voice of the  
Collective speaking as one.  
  
/Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be  
added to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us.  
Resistance is futile./  
  
Drones transporting all over the ship. Phaser fires all  
around me. His voice pleading me, cajoling me---even as I  
hear their screams on every deck, in every mind, in the  
Collective thought.  
  
/Our minds are linked./ His voice calls me, filled with  
anguish. /We are one. I can hear your thoughts./  
  
But it's too late for him. They wrench him down to his  
knees, his struggles in vain. I watch as his head is yanked  
back and a drone injects the claws of the tubules into his  
neck. I hear his pain-filled scream, his eyes clouding with  
distress---his pain plunging me into a sudden desolate  
blackness.  
  
And with that suffocating darkness, comes the beginnings of  
a scream that fills my own tightening throat. However the  
only sound that comes out is a small gasp of misery, as my  
eyes finally snap open.  
  
The Interlink Node disconnects from my Alcove and under the  
sound of my heavy, desperate breathing, I hear the voice of  
the computer announce.  
  
"Regeneration cycle incomplete."  
  
I stare into the dimmed cargobay two, my heart beating  
frantically, my breaths coming in gasps, as I try to bring a  
semblance of order to my bewildered state. It is then that  
my eyes settle on the figure perched on the cargo containers  
a step below the platform.  
  
His shoulders as tense as mine, as if he's shared my  
thoughts this time as well, as if he knows what I went  
through under the guise of my regeneration cycle. I stare at  
him hesitantly, perturbed by his presence, my mind still  
reeling from the images I'd seen in my dreams.  
  
"Commander." I finally say, as I step off the Alcove,  
willing my heart to calm its frantic beat.  
  
He slides off the container, a few lines of worry wrinkling  
the skin between his brows. "Seven."  
  
I access the chronometer. Its 0413 hours.  
  
I look at him, unsure of his reasons for being here at this  
hour. "You're up early."  
  
He shrugs, a slightly apologetic twist on his lips. "I  
couldn't sleep." His eyes probe mine. "Are you all right?"  
  
It was just a dream, I remind myself. Just a tangle of  
confusion cooked up by my strained mind, nothing more.  
  
I take a deep breath and step off the platform. "I seem to  
be suffering from the same predicament as you are."  
  
He looks uncertainly at my profile, looks behind me at the  
Alcove I've just stepped down from, and then slightly  
frowns. "Aren't you going to go back to regeneration?"  
  
"Perhaps later." I reply, as I notice his attire---an earthy  
toned collar-less shirt, seemingly made of a soft material,  
and loose cream-colored pants---apparently his off-duty  
clothes of choice.  
  
He nods, and makes a small gesture with his arm. "Then may  
I..." He pauses as he turns sideways, his eyes on the cargo  
containers behind him, and shakes his head. "No seating  
arrangements here."  
  
"This is a cargobay." I look at him. "What purpose would  
having a seating arrangement serve in a cargobay?"  
  
He seems amused. "Cargobay or not, it is still *your*  
domain."  
  
I lift my chin. "Borg do not sit." But my words don't have  
the same brusqueness as they could've had.  
  
And he notices. A slight smile brushes his lips. "Borg who  
socialize with humans *do* sit."  
  
I look into his eyes, trying to keep my voice cool under his  
interested gaze. "Are you asking me to socialize with you,  
Commander?"  
  
He shrugs. "Oh, I don't know... I *am* asking you to take a  
walk with me to somewhere with a couple of chairs at least."  
He hesitates a moment, looking slightly unsure. "If you're  
not busy that is."  
  
And it's in this small show of hesitancy that I find a  
little assurance for myself. If I am not the only one who is  
uncertain about facing him, if the Commander is as  
apprehensive about talking to me as I am to him, then  
perhaps we'd be on equal grounds.  
  
Pushing the remnants of the strange dream I'd just had to  
the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and nod. "I am  
unoccupied at this time. I will take the walk."  
  
He smiles, satisfied, and turns around, leading me out of  
the cargobay. The corridors are vacant at this hour of the  
morning, with the gamma crew on shift and the rest of them  
in their quarters sleeping. We don't use the turbolift.  
Instead Commander Chakotay finds an Observation Lounge at  
the far end of Deck twelve and we walk inside.  
  
It's a lounge I hadn't looked closely at before. I was being  
honest when I told the Commander that Borg do not sit. Borg  
don't socialize either. And certainly not with  
former-renegade First Officers of Federation ships stranded  
in the delta quadrant. But it would appear that times have  
now changed. And as always I'll have to find a way to adapt,  
whether I am ready for it or not.  
  
My gaze travels across the small room furnished with  
comfortable chairs, cushioned two-seaters, and the few low  
set glass tables set in front of the two viewport windows,  
to stop at the man standing next to a seat---looking at me  
expectantly. I realize he'd been watching me while I was  
studying my surroundings, lost in my thoughts. I take a  
breath, step forward to pull out a straight-back chair and  
carefully sit down, watching him take a chair in front of  
me.  
  
He leans back in his chair in a relaxed posture and looks at  
me closely, and I suddenly realize he has lost the slight  
lines of apprehension that had creased his face earlier.  
Perhaps the small walk helped him focus, as it did me, in a  
way.  
  
"So..." He starts, his eyes intent on me, and trails off.  
  
I urge him on. "I am waiting for you to begin."  
  
His brow arches. "Begin what?"  
  
I feel myself frown slightly. "You did bring me here to talk  
about Kellin, didn't you?"  
  
There's a slight pause during which his eyes linger on mine,  
and then one corner of his mouth twitches. "No, you  
misunderstood me. I brought you here because I wanted to  
talk about *you*."  
  
I look at him incredulously. "Me."  
  
"Yes." He straightens up on his seat, his face suddenly  
turning serious. "How are you doing? Since coming back from  
the away mission?"  
  
There's concern in his eyes and although I am not sure why,  
its strangely comforting to me. It's been fourteen hours  
since our return from the planet. Lieutenant Paris is  
recovering in sickbay. The Commander and I were unhurt and  
we've been off-duty since our return. I don't understand why  
he'd be concerned about me now.  
  
"I am fine." I reply.  
  
"Are you sure?" His voice is soft, unexpectedly reminding me  
of the velvet timbre from my dreams, my  
memories---distracting me for a moment---before it suddenly  
occurs to me what he's attempting to do.  
  
I raise my brow at him. "Is this a counseling session,  
Commander?"  
  
He smiles gently and shakes his head. "No. Just lending a  
friendly ear."  
  
Though, for some reason I don't want to talk about this. I  
make an attempt at changing the subject. "Are you sure you  
do not wish to speak about Kellin?"  
  
He stares at me closely, his throat working as his mind  
apparently processes the information at his disposal. Then  
as if coming to a decision, he sighs and leans back on his  
seat, his brow smooth. "All right. Tell me, what *do* you  
know about Kellin?"  
  
I waver, unsure of his changing tactics. How much *does* he  
know? How much does he *want* to know? I decide to start at  
the beginning.  
  
"She was a Rumaran tracer who had come to Voyager looking  
for a runaway..."  
  
He breaks in. "I know that."  
  
I pause, feeling my brow arching in mild impatience. "The  
two of you began a romantic relationship..."  
  
He shrugs. "That's in my accounts too."  
  
I purse my lips, as I feel my impatience expand into slight  
irritation. Humans have a strangely annoying habit of  
playing along just for the sake of it. "Her leaving you  
after her memories were erased caused you a great deal of  
pain..."  
  
He pauses for a second. "For approximately two hours."  
  
My brows wrinkle at his mysterious behavior. "Are you  
suggesting that you have not been distracted, that you have  
not been upset, over this subject in the past few days?"  
  
He blinks and then sighs, a smile breaking on his face, as  
he shakes his head. "Is this a counseling session, Seven?"  
  
I feel my irritation slowly melt away at the sight of his  
amusement. "No. Perhaps, I too am only lending you a  
friendly ear."  
  
There's another pause as he silently appraises me and then  
the smile disappears. "Seven," His eyes are solemn. "I  
really *am* sorry about how I spoke to you down on the  
planet."  
  
I heard the Doctor once tell me that all things in the  
universe go on in a never-ending circle. I told him it was  
an illogical supposition. I told him all matter in the  
galaxy was constantly expanding and not moving in a circle  
as he'd proposed. I couldn't have known how right he was, at  
least in respect to *some* things.  
  
I heave in a deep breath as I face Chakotay. "As I said  
before, Commander, you have no reason to apologize."  
  
But the Commander's dark eyes are implacable. "You're wrong.  
I was out of line. That calls for an apology."  
  
"You want to apologize to *me*?" My tone rises in  
exasperation. "Even after I almost persuaded you to let  
Lieutenant Paris take the shuttle---which if he had done so,  
would have resulted in all of us getting killed?"  
  
He grits his teeth. "One thing has got nothing to do with  
the other."  
  
"But I was wrong." I almost got us all killed.  
  
"Yes, you *were*." His voice rises in force, his eyes  
piercing mine as he stares hard at me---his mouth set in a  
firm line.  
  
I stare at him in a shocked silence, my throat convulsing.  
  
And then his eyes soften, the blazing anger replacing with  
patient understanding. "But I *didn't* let you do that. I  
*wouldn't* have. I told you that before."  
  
I think back over the events of the away mission, how I'd  
argued with him there and how he'd firmly denied my request  
and realize how relieved I am now that he was as immovable  
with me as he was. The consequences otherwise would've been  
devastating.  
  
I shift mental gears and think of the dream I woke up from a  
while back. The false dream. Of events that *hadn't* taken  
place. The images of Borg attacking Voyager, assimilating  
the crew---assimilating him. And suddenly a realization hits  
me. That even during regeneration, the human part of me---or  
perhaps it is the Borg part after all---was trying to tell  
me something. Was trying to give me a message.  
  
I close my eyes for a second, take in a deep breath, and  
then open them---knowing all traces of conflict have left my  
expression. "You stopped me." I tell him.  
  
His brow smoothes. "Yes, I did. We stayed together. Tom is  
all right now."  
  
I shake my head. "No, I mean---you stopped me... before  
too."  
  
His eyes narrow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"  
  
I look into his dark eyes. "When you severed my connection  
to the Collective," They're brown, I notice for the first  
time, an appealing color for eyes---a warm color. "You  
stopped me from leading the Borg to Voyager. You stopped me  
from getting Voyager assimilated."  
  
It takes a moment for comprehension to dawn in those eyes,  
and then he nods slowly, his gaze turning even softer than  
before. "I spoke to you in your thoughts."  
  
I swallow as I reply. "You were the last person I heard in  
my mind."  
  
He looks impressed, almost awed by this revelation---as if  
he'd never considered it before. "Do you still have those  
memories?"  
  
"You don't?" I ask him.  
  
He looks at me closely and shrugs as he replies---looking a  
little dazed. "I guess I do."  
  
"I have them as well." I confirm.  
  
He nods and then the expression on his face changes, his  
eyes squinting as he tilts his head to one side. "Your  
regeneration cycle... Is that where your memories of Kellin  
returned? That is, if I assume you had lost them like the  
rest of us."  
  
For some reason, I feel relieved at the change of topic and  
shift my position on the chair. "I had, and yes that's where  
they returned approximately eleven days ago."  
  
His brows crinkle as he appraises me. "Why did you take this  
long to tell me, Seven?" He sounds curious.  
  
I hesitate as I drop my gaze to my lap and then taking a  
deep breath look up at him. "I was unsure of how to approach  
you."  
  
He shakes his head, the same amusement again peeking from  
his eyes. "Seven, you chose a hell of a wrong time to do  
so."  
  
I sigh, feeling a sudden flush heat the skin of my neck. "I  
would admit my timing was a little off."  
  
He suddenly smiles as he notices my embarrassment. "And I  
would say I was just a little... shocked."  
  
I raise my brow at his lighthearted expression. He no longer  
seems upset and that relieves me even further. "I noticed."  
I nod. "But then I had already surmised that you would be  
upset before I spoke to you. I was just..." My voice trails  
off.  
  
He finishes for me. "Unprepared for that intensity?"  
  
I shrug. "I guess I wasn't."  
  
A slightly repentant look crosses his face again. "I don't  
blame you."  
  
I stare into his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted---as if  
I've run an ancient marathon race. "How is Lieutenant  
Paris?" I change the topic again. "I haven't seen him for a  
few hours."  
  
He looks at me knowingly, well aware that I am trying to  
turn the conversation around, his eyes twinkling with  
comprehension, but lets it go. "Sleeping. I stopped by  
sickbay on my way to see you. He's going to be just fine.  
He'll be released to his quarters tomorrow."  
  
"It is tomorrow now." I remind him of the early hour again.  
  
"Well, then... A few hours from now, I guess." His lips  
quirk again. It is disconcerting how suddenly I can notice  
the color of his eyes and see how many times his lips twist  
into a smile, when a few weeks back things like these  
would've been the farthest from my mind. My Borg half would  
certainly disapprove.  
  
But I find that my human part doesn't mind too much.  
  
"As I remember," I decide to continue on in the same vein.  
"The Captain ordered you to take time off as well."  
  
His brow arches. "I *am* on my time off. I told you what I  
do in my off-duty hours should be no one's concern but  
mine."  
  
I stare at him in silence once more, my own brow raised in  
query.  
  
And then he shakes his head again and sighs. "But since  
you've already shown some concern about how I spend my  
off-duty *time*," A slightly indulgent look crosses his eyes  
as he regards me. "I decided to spend some of it with you.  
Do you want to get rid of me?"  
  
I let a small smile appear on the corner of my own lips.  
"No. I want you to do as the Captain said. Get some rest."  
  
He smiles in return. "I *am* resting."  
  
I lift my chin and state in my no-nonsense voice. "Then get  
some sleep." He does seem somewhat tired. Spending his  
off-duty hours sitting with me in the Observation Lounge  
nine decks down from his quarters won't help him. The away  
mission was tiring for him as well.  
  
He straightens his shoulders. "Only if you promise me one  
thing."  
  
I look at him in question. "What is that?"  
  
He looks me straight in the eye. "That you'll complete your  
regeneration."  
  
I return his gaze as I contemplate his request. My cycle  
earlier had been ridden with unpleasant dreams that  
concerned this crew, and the man sitting in front of me. Can  
I confront the same kind of images if they storm inside my  
mind again?  
  
"Is there something wrong?" The Commander is frowning,  
concern apparent in his expression.  
  
I stare at him a moment and realize my thoughts are much  
calmer now that I've spoken to him. As much as I was  
dreading facing him, discussing the various aspects of our  
individual and mutual conflict seems to have helped.  
  
"No." I shake my head. "There was. But not anymore. I  
believe I can return to my regeneration now."  
  
His dark eyes probe mine. "Sure everything's okay?"  
  
"Yes." I nod. I *am* sure.  
  
"In that case," He smiles and gets up from his chair. "I'll  
walk you to your *domain*."  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
It is strange how life sometimes throws you a curveball and  
then expects you to go catching even though your hands are  
already full with other things.  
  
You juggle the items already in your hands as you try to  
catch the ball. Sometimes you manage to do so. Other times  
you watch in horror as the ball goes sailing past you in  
vain. Sometimes you even dump the stuff you were already  
holding and run for the curveball to make a catch of a  
lifetime.  
  
I am not sure what I've chosen to do so, but I believe my  
life has thrown me a heck of a curveball as well.  
  
And I think I just barely caught it.  
  
"I thought I told you to wait until you were back on duty  
before submitting your report." Kathryn looks at me  
indulgently from behind her desk.  
  
I smile at her. "But you'd known that I couldn't wait to get  
it over with. It's almost all I've been thinking about for  
the past twenty-four hours. And besides, I can always relax  
after I've discussed this with you."  
  
"You have a point." She nods as she gets up from her chair  
and walks around her desk to the replicator. "I was going  
through the Doctor's reports and according to him, the toxin  
that the creature left in Tom's body was highly potent. If  
Tom hadn't been treated with the antidote in the shuttle, it  
could've affected some of the major organs in his body more  
severely, maybe even permanently."  
  
She walks back to the desk, places a cup of herbal tea in  
front of me and settles down in her seat with her coffee.  
  
I look at her grave expression and sigh. "It was a close  
call. We almost didn't make it to the shuttle. Those  
creatures were vicious and extremely fast."  
  
She looks at me closely as she takes a sip from her mug.  
"But there's something else on your mind."  
  
I sip the sweetened tea. "I was just thinking of the  
carcasses we saw there. I saw two different species. Tom's  
scans show records of a third and Seven's one more. That's  
four distinctive separate species---all probably killed by  
the same creatures, beginning at the same timeframe---seven  
weeks ago."  
  
"And no signs of any other life form." Kathryn muses.  
  
"That's what's bothering me." I look down at the padd in  
front of me and then up at her. "I don't want to think that  
those creatures killed all other life forms in that  
area---or worse, on that whole planet."  
  
"Maybe it's a mutation of some sort." She offers.  
  
"It could be." I reply. "Think about it, Kathryn. No other  
living animal in sight. No bird in the air. I'd hate to  
think that these creatures have evolved out of some other  
native form of life on that planet and then taken control of  
the environment, killing their way through all the  
indigenous life forms."  
  
Kathryn looks at me curiously. "Do you think we should've  
perhaps explored some more?"  
  
"I don't know how we can explore a planet of this size,  
especially in the light of all the atmospheric conditions  
that made even that one shuttle ride such a hassle." I shake  
my head. "For all we know, we could be looking at this  
situation entirely wrong. For all we know, this could be a  
very natural occurrence in that environment that happens in  
this particular season perhaps---when all the other animals  
migrate to other climates."  
  
"When I was discussing this with Tuvok and the Doctor,"  
Kathryn says. "They were of the view that there are ways of  
controlling an unusual bend in the evolutionary process in a  
known environment. In cases where evolution has come to an  
abrupt dead end with only one species thriving in an  
environment where more should be living, we have the option  
of introducing an agent in the environment. Something to  
hinder the growth and evolution of that single species so  
that the other life forms can fight back."  
  
"But that is only valid for a known environment." I look at  
her. "This environment is completely alien to us. We just  
spent half a day in that area and yes we *were* attacked.  
But we could be interfering with what might be the possible  
natural evolutionary cycle for this world. Maybe that is the  
way it's meant to be here."  
  
"So we're damned if we do," Kathryn lifts one brow. "And  
we're damned if we don't."  
  
I sigh. "When I think about it---we *were* the intruders to  
their environment. Maybe they were just pissed off that we  
interfered in their peaceful existence."  
  
She shakes her head. "Well, they surely showed their  
displeasure in a very profound way."  
  
I nod as I take another sip of the tea. "That they did."  
  
"At least one good thing came off it." She smiles. "We now  
have a wide variety of fresh vegetables and fruits for the  
food stores, and seedlings for the hydroponics bay. Neelix  
is quite appreciative of that fact, even though he's a  
little shaken at what it almost cost us."  
  
I shake my head at the thought of what new experiments  
Neelix will do with our latest harvesting efforts. I lean  
back in the chair and look at my Captain. "Well, that was my  
report. I am sure Seven's report will provide another unique  
insight that you'll find helpful."  
  
Kathryn grins at me. "She was *here* two hours before *you*,  
with her complete report."  
  
I chuckle. "As efficient as always."  
  
It's funny how the thought of Seven no longer fills me with  
that slight uneasiness I used to feel in the past. In fact,  
there's a lightness in my heart---a strange feeling of  
pleasant vitality that parts the clouds of gloom that had  
been covering my horizon for the past few days.  
  
Kellin isn't even on my mind anymore.  
  
A curveball indeed.  
  
Kathryn looks at me closely, her eyes probing. "She told me  
of the slight altercation she had with you when she asked  
for all three of you to be separated on the planet."  
  
I look into my friend's eyes. "There was no altercation. She  
and Tom made a suggestion. I refused. That was all."  
  
"But she was blaming herself for almost causing everyone's  
deaths." Kathryn prods.  
  
I shrug at her. "Yes, I know, she's been blaming  
herself---and I'll keep telling her it wasn't her fault  
until she begins to believe me."  
  
Kathryn seems amused, her eyebrows arching in mock-surprise.  
"Why, Commander, do I detect a change in your perception of  
our ex-Drone?"  
  
I can't help but smile at this. "Perhaps."  
  
She seems genuinely pleased. "That is good, Chakotay. She  
could learn so much from you---your sense of intuition about  
everyday things, your compassion."  
  
"I don't know about her, Kathryn," I look at her. "But she  
certainly has helped open *my* eyes about things in this  
short time that I couldn't clearly see before."  
  
Kathryn smiles. "I am happy to hear that. She's a strangely  
complex person, with many difficult layers, but once you get  
to know her---you do realize she's worth the effort."  
  
I nod, noticing Kathryn's eyes quietly observing as she  
looks at me from behind her coffee mug. "I am beginning to  
see that. And also---as far as compassion is concerned, I've  
found she has enough of her own---you just have to look hard  
enough to see it."  
  
Kathryn's eyes are discerningly penetrative but my thoughts  
are already drifting. I give her a furtive smile, and notice  
her slight shake of head as she chuckles.  
  
"You're a piece of work, Chakotay."  
  
"What?" I stare at her, my brow arching in query. "Have you  
been spending a lot of time with Tom? He's the only one who  
talks like this."  
  
But instead of replying, she shakes her head again. There's  
a covert smile on her lips and I feel slightly lost in the  
wake of her probing gaze.  
  
Piece of work? What could she possibly mean?  
  
I sigh.  
  
Damn curveballs.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
Continued in Memory 4 of 4 


	4. Part 4

TITLE: "Memory" Part 4 of 4   
  
AUTHOR: Layla V.   
  
CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com   
  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/chakotayseven   
  
ARCHIVING: Sure. Just let me know where.   
  
FANDOM: Star Trek Voyager   
  
PAIRING: Chakotay/Seven   
  
RATING: PG-13.   
  
CODES: Slightly A/U. Angst. H/c.   
  
SUMMARY: What if the Rumaran virus meant to erase Kellin's   
  
memories from every mind on Voyager wasn't as effective as   
  
we'd thought at first?   
  
DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Paramount. I am merely   
  
playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.   
  
NOTES: Major thanks to Sorcha for her invaluable suggestions   
  
and betaing. Also thanks to Kristin for her encouragement   
  
without which I could never have been able to finish this.   
  
:)  
  
========^*^========^*^=========   
  
This Story won *First Place* in the Bowl First Kiss contest!  
  
http://www.geocities.com/the_fresh_bowl/contest.html  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
"Face it, Har, you guys can *never* beat me---even on my  
  
down days." Lieutenant Paris's joyful voice rises above the  
  
usual hustle of the messhall.  
  
I follow my three jubilant companions as they weave their  
  
way through the tables and crewmembers in our way, hurrying  
  
to secure a large table being vacated on one side of the  
  
messhall. Our journey takes longer than it normally should,  
  
though, as I watch several people stop the pilot in the  
  
middle of the messhall to inquire about his well being since  
  
his recent injury on our away mission.  
  
It's been forty-eight hours since our return from the  
  
planet. Lieutenant Paris was released to his quarters  
  
yesterday and after resting for one whole day he is now  
  
ready to return to duty. Tonight is his night of  
  
celebration, as Ensign Kim puts it, to see whether he's  
  
ready to handle the helm from tomorrow's alpha shift or not.  
  
Evidently bringing him out to play pool was their way of  
  
confirming---or perhaps reassuring themselves of---the  
  
Lieutenant's successful return to health.  
  
I watch as finally, with the help of our impatient Chief  
  
Engineer and the simply ecstatic Ops Officer, the Lieutenant  
  
is extricated from the clutches of his well  
  
wishers---exuberant as they are---and we settle down on our  
  
table.  
  
Tom Paris smiles blandly at his two friends.  
  
"Oh get over yourself, Fly Boy." B'Elanna Torres snorts  
  
disgustedly---an obviously feigned expression---using her  
  
occasional nickname for the pilot. "We were just worried  
  
you'd strain yourself too hard, so we went *easy* on you."  
  
Lieutenant Paris's eyes widen in disbelief and he shakes his  
  
head in mock-outrage. "Losers shouldn't insult accomplished  
  
pool players like me, B'Elanna."  
  
"Oh please, Tom..." Ensign Kim rolls his eyes. "It wasn't  
  
*that* bad. We're getting better, you know that."  
  
"Harry..." Lieutenant Paris shakes his head. "You saw how  
  
she played. I literally wiped the pool table with her  
  
tonight."  
  
My brow raises at Lieutenant Torres's affronted growl from  
  
her seat. "*No one* wipes the pool table with me. The only  
  
reason I lost was because you were too weak and I didn't  
  
want to tire you out too much."  
  
"That is incorrect," I interject. "Lieutenant Paris's  
  
hand-to-eye coordination tonight was better than both you  
  
and Ensign Kim. He won on his own merit."  
  
Tom Paris turns to me and his smile turns wider. "Oh Seven,  
  
I had no idea you *cared*." His eyes twinkle with mischief.  
  
"That's it. I've decided---from now on, you're my new best  
  
friend. I don't like these two anymore. *You* know no one  
  
can beat me."  
  
"That's bullshit, Paris." Torres' lips pout at him as she  
  
gives me an intolerant glare. "You've gotten your head too  
  
big for your own good. Chakotay can beat you at pool."  
  
"Chakotay?" Tom shakes his head. "You've gotta be kidding.  
  
He hasn't beaten me in *ages*. Heck he hasn't *played* pool  
  
in ages. He's not as fast as I am."  
  
"That is incorrect too," I interject again. "Commander  
  
Chakotay's reflexes are stronger than most people on this  
  
ship. His hand-to-eye coordination is excellent. I've seen  
  
him fight against and *beat* Commander Tuvok in his boxing  
  
simulation."  
  
"Seven, boxing is different from playing pool." This time  
  
it's Lieutenant Paris's turn to pout.  
  
"Not so much different if you take into account the factor  
  
of agility versus skill," I reply calmly. "And Commander  
  
Chakotay has both---in both the scenarios. He would be a  
  
formidable opponent for your level of playing."  
  
"You've seen Chakotay *box*?" Lieutenant Torres looks at me  
  
incredulously. "He hasn't shown *me* his boxing program."  
  
I turn my head and look at her, my eyebrow arching at her  
  
skepticism. "It was a security drill with Commander Tuvok,  
  
two months ago. I was monitoring the various techniques they  
  
used, and their effects on their physical propensity."  
  
"Still, he uses my Klingon Calisthenics Program," she  
  
mumbles.  
  
"B'Elanna, you whine as much as Tom does." Ensign Kim shakes  
  
his head at his two friends.  
  
"Me? Whine?" Tom Paris's voice rises again. "I am not  
  
whining. I am just saying Chakotay can't beat me so  
  
easily..."  
  
"Oh shut up, Paris. You're a pig," B'Elanna growls again,  
  
her mock-affronted mask back in place.  
  
"Who's a pig?"  
  
I start as I look up to see Commander Chakotay standing next  
  
to my chair.  
  
The expression on Lieutenant Paris's face changes  
  
immediately. He smiles widely at the First Officer, his lips  
  
quirking impishly. "Uh, hey Commander---have a seat."  
  
"Thanks, Tom." Chakotay smiles at all of us as he slides  
  
down in the seat next to me. "So who's the pig?"  
  
"B'Elanna called Tom a pig." Harry chuckles from his seat  
  
next to the pilot.  
  
"Why, B'Elanna, what did he do?"  
  
"He said he could wipe the pool table with you, Chakotay."  
  
Lieutenant Torres huffs dramatically, her one brow raised in  
  
challenge.  
  
"That's a total lie!" Lieutenant Paris's outraged cry rings  
  
into our ears. "I never said anything like that. I said I  
  
wiped the pool table with B'Elanna in *tonight*'s game,  
  
that's all."  
  
"Why, Tom..." The Commander smiles at him. "I thought your  
  
memory was better than that. I *have* beaten you at pool  
  
many times."  
  
"Are you kidding? I always let you win because you're my  
  
superior officer," Tom drawls.  
  
"Is that right?" I can feel the vibrations of the  
  
Commander's mirth emanating from his whole demeanor. He's  
  
truly relaxed tonight. "Oh, but I can't take advantage of  
  
you tonight, Lieutenant," He continues. "You just recovered  
  
from your severe injuries. I can't strain you too much at  
  
pool at the moment, you know."  
  
I feel my remaining nervousness disappear as all three of  
  
them laugh at the pilot.  
  
"God, am I only going to be insulted tonight?" Lieutenant  
  
Paris shakes his head, as he returns the smiles.  
  
"Don't worry, Commander," Ensign Kim says. "Seven said you  
  
could beat the hell out of Tom at pool."  
  
I feel myself flush as I feel the Commander's eyes shift to  
  
my profile. "That's not what she said," I hear Lieutenant  
  
Paris complain again. "She said he'd make a "formidable  
  
opponent", that's all."  
  
"Is that true, Seven?" Chakotay's voice is teasing yet  
  
gentle.  
  
I turn my head to look at him. His eyes are sparkling  
  
brilliantly, his mouth softened into a still unexpectedly  
  
pleasant smile. I feel my breath catch for some unfathomable  
  
reason, as I look into his brown eyes, unable to speak for a  
  
moment.  
  
"Tom. Commander. Seven." Our reverie is broken by the  
  
cheerful squeal from Mr. Neelix. "Look what I've got for  
  
you."  
  
The Morale Officer walks jubilantly to our table, a serving  
  
tray in his hand. "I tried one of those delicious vegetables  
  
you brought from your away mission in one of my pie dishes.  
  
And its turned out *wonderful*." The Talaxian smiles happily  
  
as he places the tray in front of us. "I wish I could stay  
  
to see how you like it but I've got an alpha shift crew to  
  
serve. Please enjoy yourselves. Its absolutely delicious."  
  
With that, he walks away---leaving the five of us in a  
  
dubious silence.  
  
"Uh, guys..." Lieutenant Paris is the first one to speak.  
  
"Did you hear Neelix say what I think I heard him say?"  
  
"Yeah, Tom." Ensign Kim swallows. "He thinks it's  
  
delicious."  
  
"Oh no." The Lieutenant shakes his head. "Delicious to  
  
Neelix normally means heartburn to the rest of us."  
  
"Oh well, his Silkari brown rice from last week wasn't so  
  
bad." B'Elanna sighs.  
  
"Well, it looks like a yellow version of artichokes." Harry  
  
offers in reassurance. "It can't be that bad."  
  
"It looks like one of your collections, Tom." Chakotay grins  
  
from my side. "*I* don't remember harvesting anything like  
  
this from there." He picks up the fork lying on the tray and  
  
offers it to the pilot. "Why don't you do the honors?"  
  
Tom looks at the XO suspiciously as he takes the fork from  
  
his hand and then squints down at the plate of the yellowish  
  
baked vegetable pie. The smell rising from it isn't that  
  
unpleasant and I watch as after taking a deep breath, the  
  
pilot scoops up a forkful and takes it into his mouth.  
  
Four sets of eyes watch as Lieutenant Paris chews the  
  
mouthful of the dish our cook has prepared from the  
  
vegetable sample the pilot himself harvested, watch as the  
  
expression on his face changes from mild curiosity to slight  
  
discomfort to abject horror, watch as he spits out the  
  
forkful he had taken inside his mouth---his mouth grimacing  
  
in absolute disgust.  
  
"No, no, no...' He moans into his napkin, as I hand him a  
  
glass of water. "I can't *believe* this." He groans in  
  
disdain as he chokes down half the glass in one go.  
  
Curious, B'Elanna tastes a spoonful from the pie and her  
  
reaction is the same. "P'Takh," She heaves a sigh of  
  
disgust. "It tastes *just* like Leola Root."  
  
I hear the Commander chuckling at my side as the pilot huffs  
  
in outrage. "I can't believe I almost got *killed* for  
  
this."  
  
"Just your luck, Tom, huh?" Ensign Kim grins at his friend.  
  
"You had to go find a Leola version of Artichokes from the  
  
planet of hell."  
  
"Who knows, Lieutenant," Chakotay says. "Those Leola-Root  
  
lookalikes you threw away down there---could've tasted like  
  
Mushrooms."  
  
"I hate this." Paris sighs.  
  
"Don't worry, Tom," The Commander reassures him. "There are  
  
plenty of other things that we got from there. I am sure  
  
there will be some stuff more to our liking. I'd hate to  
  
think everything we harvested tastes like Leola Root."  
  
"It doesn't." I look at the Commander, and then at the  
  
Lieutenant. "Everything *I* harvested on the planet, after  
  
I'd assessed its viability and before I'd labeled and stored  
  
it in the containers, I tasted it as well to make sure it  
  
was adequate. Nothing you will find from my collection would  
  
be repulsive to eat."  
  
"Seven, I told you---you were the *best*, didn't I?" The  
  
smile is back on Lieutenant Paris's face. Lieutenant Torres  
  
and Ensign Kim too regard me warmly---but it's the sense of  
  
appreciation I feel coming from the Commander that sends a  
  
strange quiver of gladness inside my heart.  
  
"Good work, Seven," he says.  
  
But before I can respond to him, I am commed.  
  
"Doctor to Seven of Nine. Your weekly examination is due in  
  
ten minutes. This is just a reminder."  
  
I sigh as I hear B'Elanna Torres and Harry Kim groan at the  
  
Doctor's voice, their subject of discussion shifting from  
  
horrifying food to horrifying medical practices at the hands  
  
of the sadistic EMH. I make a mental attempt to tune out  
  
their conversations. Unlike them, I have to face the Doctor  
  
on a much regular basis---something my Human/Borg physiology  
  
requires more persistently than they can ever realize.  
  
I don't need to hear their worst case medical scenarios---no  
  
matter how harmless their intentions.  
  
"You should go," Chakotay whispers next to me, his voice  
  
soothing as always.  
  
I look at him. His eyes are soft and understanding, his face  
  
calm and his smile reassuring, as he looks into my eyes. I  
  
feel someone else's eyes on me too and turn my head to find  
  
myself looking into Lieutenant Paris's puzzled blue eyes. I  
  
watch as he looks at me, looks at the Commander looking at  
  
me, and then shifts his probing gaze back to me  
  
again---while his two friends stay oblivious, still busy  
  
with their sadistic-EMH-complaining. And then, I stare as a  
  
smile grows on the Lieutenant's face, widening as something  
  
that looks like understanding dawns on his face.  
  
"I must leave," I announce breathlessly, feeling the  
  
Commander's eyes still on my frame, disconcerted by the  
  
various reactions I've received in the last few moments.  
  
"Doctor's orders."  
  
"See you later," Chakotay says.  
  
I nod at him as I stand up---my eyes lingering on his face  
  
for a moment---nod at Lieutenant Paris---the expression on  
  
his face oddly amused---acknowledge Torres and Kim's  
  
good-byes and turning around, walk out of the messhall.  
  
Just for a moment, though, as I reach the exit, I feel  
  
myself shiver as the heat of Chakotay's gaze lingers on my  
  
back---its comforting warmth infusing my whole body.  
  
And then the messhall doors close behind me.  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
I run my palms across the soft lush blades at my sides and  
  
feel the cool slippery texture tickle my skin. So green, so  
  
luxuriantly fragrant the grass is---I take in a deep joyous  
  
breath of the cool morning air and for a moment, almost  
  
imagine myself in the real desert.  
  
I realize, though, that a holodeck simulation is the only  
  
place in the delta quadrant where I can get a taste of that  
  
beloved, sorely missed, sunrise.  
  
The imagery is almost nearly perfect.  
  
A sea of sand for as far as the eye can see---chilling cold  
  
in the night, yet hot and sultry in the day. And somewhere  
  
in the middle of these sandy dunes, this small patch of  
  
greenery filled with tall leafy palms swaying to the nearly  
  
hushed murmur of the cool spring spraying out of the  
  
fractured earth. At this hour, everything around me is  
  
almost perfectly silent and still---as if waiting for life  
  
to languidly arise out of its deep slumber.  
  
I look closely at the dark horizon and can almost make out  
  
the beginnings of the new day arriving. That hesitant bluish  
  
tint of daylight slowly making itself visible against the  
  
thick black curtain of night. I hear the distant call of a  
  
bird chirping and feel a smile tugging at the corners of my  
  
lips.  
  
Yes. It took me years to get this simulation this far---  
  
adding little details that come back to me every time I work  
  
on the programming. Even though, I am thrilled with the work  
  
I've done on this, I might finally have come as close as I  
  
am ever going to get to the real thing. I've never shared  
  
this with anyone before, but that is going to change now.  
  
I hear the holodeck doors open and close somewhere behind me  
  
and after a moment hear a hesitant voice call out.  
  
"Commander?"  
  
"Over here, Seven." I call her.  
  
It takes her a moment, and then she walks out from behind  
  
the grove of palms, and out into the open air. I look up at  
  
her.  
  
"Hello," I greet her.  
  
She nods. "It is dark."  
  
I smile. "Yes. But its soon going to be light." I pat the  
  
spot next to me. "Have a seat."  
  
She looks at me doubtfully; her brow raised in puzzlement,  
  
but complies. With an elegant grace she's probably unaware  
  
of possessing, she folds her long body into a sitting  
  
position and settles down on the patch of grass by my side.  
  
A few seconds tick by in silence as we hear the steadily  
  
growing chirps of crickets and the other insects dwelling in  
  
the bushes and sands around us. Then she shifts on the  
  
grass.  
  
"What are we doing here?" She looks at me.  
  
I turn to her and give her a smile. "Waiting for an Arizona  
  
sunrise."  
  
She looks at me dubiously. "A sunrise."  
  
"Yes." I sigh. "Just wait and see. It's going to be  
  
beautiful."  
  
There's silence for a moment as she ponders over my words,  
  
her blue eyes thoughtful, and then she looks at me again.  
  
"You miss Earth."  
  
I nod. "I do. Even though I wasn't born there, I spent a  
  
long time there after I joined the Academy. Arizona was  
  
always one of my most favorite places to visit. I loved the  
  
desert heat."  
  
"It is cold right now," she observes.  
  
"Yes, it is." I agree, feeling the cool morning chill  
  
delightfully make its way through my soft cotton shirt and  
  
slacks, and push my light sandals off. I rub the soles of my  
  
feet on the cool springy grass. "But it's pleasant," I tell  
  
her.  
  
Seven observes my bare feet for a long moment, and just when  
  
I start to think that perhaps I've made a mistake by taking  
  
the sandals off, she reaches down with her hands and one  
  
after the other, pulls off her own high-heeled shoes as  
  
well. Almost unresistingly, my eyes linger on her  
  
feet---they're exquisitely formed, her toes beautifully  
  
aligned in almost a straight line, the heels of her feet  
  
arching in a long graceful curve, all covered in soft pale  
  
skin.  
  
The sight of her sitting, barefoot, on a slope of cool dewy  
  
grass in my holodeck program, in her formfitting  
  
regenerative outfit, fills me with a strange wild  
  
giddiness---for never before had I ever imagined such a  
  
sight in my dreams. I look up into her startled eyes and  
  
find her looking at me staring at her feet, and suddenly my  
  
mouth is dry. Her eyes widen at whatever she sees on my  
  
face.  
  
Spirits, what the hell is happening to me?  
  
Another bird calls out in the chilling air, and I look up to  
  
the sky. The daylight is breaking. The sun is coming out.  
  
"Look," I tell her, pointing to the sky.  
  
She follows my gaze.  
  
It's like a swirling moving fountain of colors---darkness  
  
and light blending together to form a beautiful,  
  
unexplainably wonderful canvas of life. Brightness replacing  
  
the unyielding gloom of the night. The fluffy white clouds  
  
slowly becoming visible in the awakening day and from behind  
  
them comes our first glimpse of the bright, vitalizing,  
  
endlessly alive sun.  
  
The sounds of the birds chirping is like an old melody I'd  
  
been nostalgic for a long time. The sun's yellow rays make  
  
the whole landscape glitter like sprinkled gold dusted along  
  
the dunes and the light breeze makes the palms behind us  
  
rustle to their own private rhythm.  
  
I let the whole scene sink into me, feelings the brightness  
  
of the day and the song of the birds fill me with a new  
  
sense of vigor.  
  
Finally, I turn to her. "Well, what do you think?"  
  
She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, her eyes still on  
  
the vista in front of us, and then she takes a breath and  
  
looks at me. "It is impressive."  
  
I smile. "I'd hoped you'd enjoy it."  
  
"I did." She lets a small smile show on her lips and then  
  
asks. "Did you program this simulation?"  
  
"Yes," I nod, as I push myself up on one hand and stand up.  
  
"It's never going to be as authentic as the *real* thing but  
  
I've tried to get *as* close as I could."  
  
She follows my lead and stands up as well. "You've done  
  
well. It's a soothing environment."  
  
I watch as she approaches the grove of palms and turns  
  
around, her eyes lingering on the bubbling spring and the  
  
greenery. "A fertile area in the middle of a desert."  
  
I smile. "An oasis. An island of life and hope in the midst  
  
of desolate barren dunes of sand."  
  
She looks at me closely. "Hope. Do you always look for the  
  
bright side even when all apparent options that might lead  
  
to a favorable conclusion are gone?"  
  
"No." I shake my head, my eyes looking into hers. "Sometimes  
  
I learn the hard way as well. Sometimes I can be the most  
  
hardheaded person you'll ever find. But experience has  
  
taught me that you should *always* look for the bright  
  
side---always keep an open mind. For when you do that---hope  
  
finds you itself."  
  
"Isn't that an excessively optimistic approach, Commander?"  
  
There's a slight quirk to her lips.  
  
"Oh." I stare deep into her eyes, my own eyes soft. "But I  
  
*thrive* on optimism, Seven."  
  
"I am beginning to see that." She returns my gaze, her eyes  
  
twinkling. With a nod and a slight smile on her lips, she  
  
moves out to stand at the edge of the greenery, next to a  
  
tall palm tree. The sun is peeking from behind the clouds,  
  
still not completely out but somehow brighter now---its rays  
  
washing everything in its luminescent brilliance. I look  
  
over the view, my eyes travelling over the dry terrain,  
  
watching as a flock of birds flies towards some distant  
  
abode, and then my gaze rests on my companion.  
  
Her face turned towards the sparkling spring in the middle  
  
of the oasis, her fingers play with a drooping leaf of the  
  
palm, as my eyes travel from her bare feet up to her  
  
graceful, arching profile, to rest on her golden mane. The  
  
sunlight lingers in her hair, making them sparkle under the  
  
shade of the palm, turning them alive all of a  
  
sudden---their suddenly overwhelming luster turning my mouth  
  
dry again.  
  
She notices my eyes on her and turns her face to look at me,  
  
and we're caught in each other's gazes---her eyes a  
  
beautiful, shimmering hue of blue unlike any I'd ever seen  
  
before. My heart filling with that same wild giddiness, I  
  
find myself walking to her in a daze---suddenly seized by  
  
the desire to sink my fingers into her hair.  
  
She looks at me, her eyes wide, as I reach her side---that  
  
same now-familiar flush heating her beautiful face.  
  
"May I?" I ask her, my voice suddenly hoarse, as my hand  
  
reaches up to touch the line of her hair pulled back from  
  
her face.  
  
She nods, her throat convulsing, her breathing uneven.  
  
My fingers slowly map the terrain with their pads as I  
  
stroke her bound hair with that one hand, until they reach  
  
the pin that clasps her hair into that bun. With a gentle  
  
tug, I pull it out and her hair loosens, falling into  
  
beautiful wavy strands around her face. I feel my breath  
  
catch in my throat as the sunrays fall on her silky tresses,  
  
making them glitter like threads made of gold---turning her  
  
exquisitely beautiful to me.  
  
My heart hammering loudly in my ears, my fingers running  
  
through her golden hair, I gently pull her close, lower my  
  
mouth and press my lips to hers. I feel her stiffen against  
  
me for a second and then my hand is travelling down to the  
  
middle of her back, tenderly rubbing away her fears, my  
  
fingers gentle in their touch---and with a soft sigh, she  
  
comes closer, her own trembling hands coming around my  
  
shoulders. As I trace her soft lips with mine, I feel the  
  
heated vibrations of her moan reverberating against my skin,  
  
her taste infinitely sweet against my mouth, and with a sigh  
  
I let her mouth go, leaning back to look at her face.  
  
Her eyes are closed, her face burning with that beautiful  
  
crimson shade, as her breaths come out of her parted lips in  
  
small panting gasps---the stunning sight of her making my  
  
heart thud against my ribcage. And then she opens her eyes  
  
and I am lost in the depths of her soul. I cradle her heated  
  
face in my palms, my fingers rubbing her flaming cheeks, as  
  
her hands tighten around my shoulders.  
  
"A piece of work indeed," I whisper, my eyes glazed, as a  
  
sudden smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.  
  
A small frown appears between her brows. "Explain." She  
  
looks confused.  
  
So I lower my lips to claim her mouth once more, my smile  
  
widening against her pliant mouth. This time, her lips part  
  
against mine and I hear myself moan as I finally taste the  
  
sweetness of her mouth, my tongue plunging inside to drink  
  
at her lush tang. Her hands are moving down my back now, her  
  
lips moving against mine, urgent in their need, and I press  
  
her closer to me, my hands moving in her hair, threading  
  
through the silky strands and my mouth slants against hers  
  
to kiss her harder.  
  
As we hold each other close under the shade of the palm  
  
tree, her strong slender body pressing against mine, her  
  
arms tighten around me and I feel a lightness invade my  
  
heart.  
  
That yawning gap in my thoughts, that fissure that had felt  
  
as if it had shattered my soul only a few days back, no  
  
longer exists. In its place, is a sweet tenderness---that I  
  
had never thought I'd find again.  
  
There's hope after all in the midst of all desolation.  
  
My reason is found again.  
  
========^*^========^*^=========   
  
THE END 


End file.
